


Cruel Summer

by fluttermoth



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Abuse, Aldmeri Dominion, Altmer - Freeform, Breeding Contracts, Dubious Consent, Dysfunctional Family, Humor, Multi, Racism, Sadism, Sexual Content, Slavery, Thalmor, arranged marriage (kind of), bosmer - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-01
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-01-21 12:53:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 51,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1551182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fluttermoth/pseuds/fluttermoth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's 4E 190 and the Aldmeri Dominion's hold over Cyrodiil is stronger than ever. This is the story of a Justiciar and his pet, and how their relatively mundane life is upended when his sisters visit for the summer. (A prequel to Causa Mortis.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Lumen stands on a small pedestal, wearing nothing but her underclothes and feeling horribly awkward. An Altmer seamstress and her staff flit around her like a carnival of carrion birds, throwing layers of tulle and organza around her body, and then taking it away before Lumen can even begin to figure out what kind of shape they are hoping to create.

Once every year, Malrian brings a tailor to his home and commissions her to create a new wardrobe for Lumen. The clothes he dresses her in would befit any Altmer lady of high-standing. They are made from the finest fabrics imported from Alinor, and modeled after the most current Altmer fashions. This year, the popular colors are gold and silver combined with sparkling pastels that make the wearer appear as a rare jewel.

Malrian sits in his favorite chair, watching the chaos and occasionally commenting if he likes or dislikes a certain color or fabric. "Valyrie, I'd like to put a rush on this order, particularly for the summer gowns. My sisters will be coming to visit in two months and I want my pet to look her best."

"Of course, Justiciar," the seamstress replies, dipping into a deep bow before ordering her staff to pack up their supplies.

Now free of miles of fabric, pins, and too many busy hands, Lumen steps down from the pedestal and one of Valyrie's staff picks it up and takes it away. The gaggle of tailors leave the room in a bustle of noise, and silence falls over Lumen and Malrian when the door closes with a soft click.

"May I dress, master?" Lumen asks softly, wrapping her arms around her body to preserve what's left of her modesty.

"Not yet," Malrian says, watching her with a lazy smirk on his face. "Come here and stand before me. Somehow I have failed to notice how much you've grown this past year."

Feeling suddenly self-conscious, but not enough to prevent her from following an order, Lumen walks up to Malrian and asks, "Does it displease you?"

"Oh no, pet," he purrs, swirling a glass of red wine in his hand. "On the contrary, I am pleased with what I see. Most Bosmeri females tend to be lithe and quite scrawny, not unlike their Altmer counterparts. But you, pet, you are- oh, what's the word? Buxom. Zaftig, even. Though I am loathe to use a Nord loanword, it _is_ a rather fitting description for you."

"Thank you, master," Lumen says, inclining her head.

Malrian sets his glass down on the carved oak table beside his chair and motions for Lumen to step closer. "My sisters, the evil harpies that they are, may try to insult you for it," he says, resting his elbows on the arms of his chair and leaning forward. "Don't listen to them, you are exactly as I want you to be."

"Yes, master," Lumen stammers, unused to such compliments.

"You may dress now," he says, dismissing her with a wave of his hand.

* * *

The impending arrival of Malrian's sisters is a source of great excitement among the guards, and a source of immense distress among the help. The maids have all worked themselves into a dither in regards to the cleanliness of the house. Unfortunately, Lumen seems to be catching their ire at every turn. In just the span of one afternoon she was scolded for walking barefoot across a recently polished floor, thrown out of the kitchens for asking for a peach tart, and when she finally left the house hoping to seek solace outside, she made the mistake of walking beneath a window just as one of the maids was pouring a bucket of dirty water out of it.

"Honestly," Malrian huffs. "The one day I need you to behave like a proper young lady, and you go and make a damn nuisance of yourself."

"I'm sorry, master," Lumen says, shivering as she piles her wet clothes in a soggy heap on the veranda.

"You're lucky I don't have time to punish you," he says, draping a towel around her shoulders and roughly shoving her inside the house. "My sisters will be arriving in less than an hour. So get cleaned up and get dressed. I expect you to look and act civilized!"

"Yes, master." Lumen stares at her feet, not daring to make eye contact with him. "I'm sorry, master. I'll behave."

"You're testing my patience," Malrian says, and Lumen walks faster when he snaps his fingers. "Go!"

Lumen tugs the towel tighter around her shoulders and runs to her bedroom, eager to escape Malrian's view just in case he decides he _does_ have time to punish her. Once inside the relative safety of her room, she drops her towel on the floor and takes a seat on the pouffe in front of her vanity. It will take hours for her hair to dry, and time is not a luxury Lumen has. So she pulls her long hair into a bun and secures it with a gold clip, adorned with emeralds and diamonds; a gift from Malrian for good behavior.

The maids like to call her 'Malrian's pampered pet' and though Lumen does not know how other Altmer treat their pets, she knows her life is fairly easy as long as she follows his rules. Disobedience is severely punished, while obedience earns her gifts and affection. As much as she hates herself for it, she does prefer the latter.

With her hair taken care of, Lumen puts on a dress that Malrian chose for her the previous night; a sleeveless, green dress made of a thin material that clings to her curves. The skirt falls to her ankles, and there are slits on each side that reveal her legs. After stepping into a pair of velvet slippers, she looks at herself in the mirror. She's presentable, except that her dress needs to be buttoned in the back, and there's only one mer who can help her out with that task; Malrian. No one in his household staff is allowed to touch his beloved pet without his express permission.

A shiver runs through her at the thought of pestering Malrian. He's been in a foul mood thanks to the imminent arrival of his sisters, and Lumen has often been the outlet of his frustration. Still, she needs his help; the punishment she might get for disturbing him is likely to be less severe than the one she gets for walking around half dressed. After draping a sash made of golden lamé across her arm, Lumen darts out of her room. She doesn't get far, however, as she runs directly into a tall, female Altmer.

"F-forgive me, mistress!" Lumen falls to her knees and bows at the woman's feet. She flinches, expecting her transgression to be met with screeching or the bitter sting of destruction magic.

"Oh, _do_ get up!" A high-pitched voice trills. "You'll soil your lovely dress! Come on! Up! Up!"

Lumen stands, and before she can get a good look at the woman, she's grabbing Lumen by the shoulders and spinning her around. "Let me help you with this," she says, quickly buttoning the dress, and then grabbing the sash from her arm and tying it around her waist.

"Thank you, mistress," Lumen says, turning around and bending into a slight bow.

"Oh, enough with this 'mistress' business, just call me Aelfwynie, dear! Or you can call me Wynnie for short. But not Wynalicious, only my darling husband is allowed to call me that," Aelfwynie says with a wink and a giggle.

Lumen is dumbfounded. By the way Malrian had been describing his sisters, she had thought they would all be cruel, hideous Hagravens. Though he had mentioned that he has a favorite, and Aelfwynie must be her. She looks very similar to Malrian with her bright, blue eyes and long, blonde hair. Aelfwynie looks like a princess; her hair is curled and twisted into an intricate up do that is held in place with combs in the shape of butterflies. Her dress is a white organza gown with gold butterflies embroidered across the corset and skirt, and she is made even taller by her golden, high heel shoes.

"Thank you, Lady Aelfwynie," she says, hoping the rest of Malrian's sisters are as kind as she is.

Aelfwynie links her arm with Lumen's and practically drags her down the hallway. "You must be my darling brother's little pet, yes? We were all getting ready to sit down and have some wine, and you simply must come join us!"

They enter the parlor to find two women sitting on a sofa, facing a second sofa where Malrian is sitting. It's easy for Lumen to guess which sister is Elenwen. Like Malrian, the eldest is dressed in Thalmor robes, and her wavy blonde hair is neatly brushed back in a traditional Altmer style. The other must be Elaninde; her flame red hair and striking green eyes make her stand out among her pale siblings. She has a bored expression on her face and is slouching on a sofa with one leg draped over the armrest, and she's wearing the skimpiest dress Lumen has ever seen.

"Oh, Malrian," Aelfwynie sing-songs, "look what I found!" At Malrian's resulting glare, Aelfwynie pulls away from Lumen, fluttering her hands in the air as she takes a seat next to him. "Divines, I forgot how selfish you are with your things. Sometimes I wish I wouldn't have spoiled you so much when you were a little boy, but I just couldn't help myself. You were so _adorable_!"

Lumen's eyes meet Malrian's, and he nods at her; an indication that he is pleased with her appearance. She kneels beside him and sits quietly while he and Elenwen continue their conversation which Aelfwynie had interrupted. Elenwen completely ignores Lumen's presence, while Elaninde looks at her with interest, and Lumen has the distinct feeling that catching Elaninde's interest is a bad thing.

"Malrian, I want to know why you haven't responded to any of the potential breeding contracts I've sent. You realize you're quite lucky to be given a choice in the matter, and I suggest you choose before I choose for you." Elenwen's smile is more vicious than a wolf's snarl, making her threat that much more severe.

"I simply haven't had the time to look through them, dear sister," Malrian says smoothly, "I've been busy."

Elenwen ignores his flimsy excuse. "I suggest you respond to the one from Aerynn of House Jorian. Her youngest daughter Ravienne is interested in a contract with you. They are a very well-bred family and quite wealthy."

"Aerynn is a cow and I am sure her daughter is as well," Malrian says, folding his arms and leaning back on the couch.

"It's the best you're going to get! Honestly, Malrian, for an Altmer of your age and social standing to remain uncontracted and childless is highly irregular. It's time for you to do your duty to the Aldmeri Dominion."

"I have done my duty!"

"It'll only take ten minutes of your time, brother," Elaninde purrs, her lips curling into a malicious smile. "Five if you're _really_ determined."

"By the Eight..." Malrian grumbles, reaching for his glass of wine.

"Oh, sweetie. I think I understand," Aelfwynie says, and pats him on the knee. "Are you not attracted to women? Because you know we can always work around that. Most women are perfectly willing to let their partner's lover, um, well- _get things started_ as long as you remember to put your um, er- _you know what_ in the proper place."

Malrian sputters and chokes on his wine, and Lumen grabs his glass to prevent it from spilling on his robes. Aelfwynie roughly slaps him on the back until he finally pushes her away. "That is _not_ the issue," he gasps.

Elaninde laughs. "You're such a prude!"

"Don't act like such a little boy, Malrian. It's a perfectly acceptable method of conception. It's the only way Rulindil managed to sire five children," Elenwen says.

"I really don't want to talk about this anymore."

"Fine, I'll leave you be, _for now_. But this conversation is far from over," Elenwen says, frowning. Her gaze falls on Lumen for the first time since her arrival and she says, "I would like some more wine."

Obediently, Lumen rises from her place at her master's side and retrieves a decanter from a nearby serving table. She carefully refills Elenwen's wine glass, then glances around the room to see who else needs their wine refilled.

"Speaking of breeding," Elaninde says, holding her glass out for Lumen to fill. "Have you considered breeding your pet? She could supply you with an army of Bosmer with those wide, birthing hips."

Lumen's expression is as impassive as ever, but internally she's screaming. She doubts Malrian would ever agree to such an idea, but she's not certain that his sisters would respect his opinions on the matter. They seemed rather keen to force him into breeding, after all.

"She's just overfed," Elenwen sniffs.

"Ooh!" Aelfwynie squeals. "Our steward is a Bosmer and he would be perfect for her! He's got blonde hair and the most gorgeous, green eyes. They would have lovely babies!"

Lumen and Malrian share a look, and for the first time in her life, she can see sympathy in his eyes. "I have no interest in breeding my pet," he says, then looks away from Lumen. "There are enough Bosmeri mongrels running around Tamriel, already."

Elenwen nods her agreement. "They're like rabbits. You start out with two and in the matter of a few months you have twenty."

Rather glad they are back to insults and not focused on her future children, Lumen refills Elaninde's glass, and then turns away to serve Aelfwynie. However a pinch to her rear has her jumping and squealing while Elaninde cackles. Malrian glares at his sister, but he's not about to scold his elder sister, so he turns his attention to Lumen instead.

"Really, pet," he snaps, "have a little decorum."

"I- I'm so sorry," she stammers, and after refilling Aelfwynie and Malrian's glasses she places the decanter back on the serving table, and returns to her master's side. The afternoon wears on without further incident. The conversation turns from breeding, to the Great War, to family news, and gossip about other Thalmor families. Elaninde eventually declares her boredom and leaves to explore the gardens with Aelfwynie in tow. With them gone, an uncomfortable silence falls over Elenwen and Malrian.

"At least tell me why you are so against the idea of breeding." Elenwen's voice is softer and less authoritative than before when her two sisters were in the room.

Malrian sighs. "I am not certain how to explain it," he says, his foot tapping loudly against the marble floor. "And I am not certain if I want to."

"I cannot help you if I do not know what the issue is," Elenwen says, her gaze flicking between Lumen and Malrian. "Don't tell me you prefer you waste your seed on your pet."

"Don't be crass!" he snaps, and Lumen flinches at the tone of his voice.

Elenwen shrugs. "I am not being crass, Malrian. It is not uncommon for Thalmor of our station to keep pets, and even though the idea disgusts me, it is also not uncommon for those relationships to turn intimate."

Malrian pinches the bridge of his nose. "My pet provides me with company and entertainment, and nothing more."

"All right," Elenwen says, though she doesn't sound entirely convinced. "So I ask again; why have you not agreed to a breeding contract?"

"Pet, leave the room," he says, and Lumen quickly obeys, even though she's burning with curiosity. What could he possibly have to say that he doesn't want her to hear? After shutting the door to the parlor behind her, she runs down the hallway. There are two doors on either side of the parlor; one that leads to the foyer, and another that leads to Malrian's office. His office has two entrances as well; the one leading from the parlor and another that connects to the hallway.

Lumen slips into his office through the second door, and after stepping out of her shoes she quietly pads to the door that leads to the parlor. She presses her ear against it, hoping she hasn't missed too much of the conversation.

"Malrian, please talk to me. There's no reason to drag this out."

After a few moments he finally says, "The act of mating disgusts me. I can't do it. I _won't_ do it."

"You mean- you've never?"

"I have, and I didn't like it. It's so undignified and dirty, and ugh- _moist_. The only thing that should ever be moist is cake."

"Malrian, really-" Elenwen's voice breaks off into a soft chuckle. "Just… lie back and think of Alinor."

"Great," he snaps. "Now you're making fun of me."

"So? You're being ridiculous! It's not as if you have to carry the little parasite inside of you for months on end. And if it's _moisture_ that bothers you, dear brother, just be grateful you don't have to actually give birth to the wretched thing."

"Elenwen, please," Malrian says weakly. "That's quite enough."

"Is it? Because I am fully prepared to describe the horrors of childbirth to you in full, gory detail. I went through it twice, as you know. Even if you are the weaker sex, you really do have the easier way of it when it comes to breeding. So stop acting like a spoiled brat and do your duty to the Dominion!" Elenwen's voice never rises in pitch, but her tone brooks no argument.

Lumen backs away from the door, surprised that the man who could order her to kill on little more than a whim would be so disgusted by the act of childbirth. Even more surprising is the fact that he was so disgusted by the simple act of sex, though his admission certainly does explain why Malrian reacted so violently once when he discovered Lumen with a boy.

It was last summer, and the farmer who made weekly delivers to the estate had fallen ill, so he sent his farmhand in his stead. To Lumen's immense pleasure, the farmhand was incredibly handsome. He had tanned skin from working the fields, black hair, and an intoxicating smile that made her stomach do flips, and made her skin feel overly warm. After many weeks of clumsy flirtations, Lumen had pulled him behind the garden shed to try out a few things she'd only read about in racy romance novels. Unfortunately, Malrian found them before they got very far. The sight of the boy's mouth on his pet's neck and his hands up her shirt had sent her master into a rage. Lumen had been severely punished for her imprudence and the handsome farm boy had mysteriously vanished.

Malrian has always been jealous where Lumen is concerned. She wasn't terribly surprised when he killed the farm boy, and she hadn't been all that upset about it anyway. It's not as if they were in love or anything silly like that. Lumen had simply desired a roll in the hay and nothing more. But then Malrian had punished her for weeks on end for succombing to her base urges, and Lumen never really understood why, until now.

She leaves Malrian's office and storms down the hallway, roughly shoving the doors to the veranda open with more force than necessary, and stepping out into the hot, summer evening. "Punish me for _your_ issues, will you? At least you know what _it_ feels like you great big bag of-"

"Apples?! Oh, oh, I know! A bag of candy! I love candy!"

Aelfwynie's cheerful voice pulls Lumen from her ranting, and she stumbles to a stop. "Uh- oh, pardon me, mistresses. I didn't know you were sitting out here and-"

"Oh, stop," Elaninde says. "What's got your smalls in a twist, hmm?"

"My smalls are perfectly aligned, mistress."

Elaninde laughs, and before she can respond Malrian appears in the doorway. "Elaninde, Aelfwynie," he nods to each, then says, "I have work to do this afternoon. I'll see you at seven for dinner." With nothing more to say, he turns on his heel and strides back down the hallway.

Knowing a silent command when she is given one, Lumen bows to the two sisters and scurries after Malrian. She follows him into his office and shuts the door behind them, then sits on the floor beside him when he takes a seat in his favorite reading chair.

"I do not know if I am going to survive this visit with my dignity intact," he sighs.

Lumen leans against his leg, resting her head on his thigh. Malrian reaches down to pull the pin from her hair, letting her auburn locks fall loose across her shoulders. The feeling of his fingers stroking through her hair and his long nails gently scratching against her scalp usually lull her to sleep, but her mind is too busy turning over all that happened today. Her master's obvious distaste of sex is rather interesting, and might be something she can use to her advantage. Though she is reluctant to try his patience right now, otherwise he might have her bred as punishment. Lumen shivers at the very thought, and the hand in her hair stills.

"What's the matter?" he asks.

"I shouldn't trouble you with my worries."

Malrian laughs. "Please, trouble me, pet. We haven't had the chance to talk much lately."

Lumen turns to face him. "I'm afraid your sisters might try to breed me," she says, the words tumbling out now that the floodgates have been opened. "Please don't let them! I don't want to bear children and I certainly don't want to have sex with some old steward!"

Malrian's eyes go wide, and for a brief, terrifying moment Lumen wonders if he is going to punish her. That is until he throws his head back and laughs harder than she's ever seen him do.

"My dear girl," he says, chuckling, "You have nothing to worry about. If you were with child it would be terribly inconvenient for me."

"It would be inconvenient for me as well, master."

"I imagine so," he says, stroking her hair. "Regardless, you have nothing to worry about. My sister is more concerned with breeding me, anyway. She is forcing me to throw a party in Ravienne's honor. She thinks if I meet her I'll change my mind."

"If I may ask... Why do you not like her? Is she not pretty?"

Malrian shrugs. "I've never met her, and I have no desire to meet her. But it seems I have little choice in the matter. Elenwen outranks me in both the Thalmor and within our family, so I must do as she says."

The thought of Malrian being anyone's subordinate is a strange one. Within these walls his word is the law, and his will is always done. His authority is rarely questioned, and it often falls to Lumen to dispose of anyone who dares to. Lumen does enjoy those moments when Malrian orders her to kill. She loves the rush of power, the spilling of blood, and the submissive thrill of pleasing her master.

They sit in silence for a long time, neither of them bothering to speak or move until the steward calls them to dinner.

* * *

If Lumen thought the maids had worked themselves into a panic previously, it is nothing compared to the mania that has overtaken them now. Malrian rarely throws parties, but when he does it is a momentous occasion. The maids are determined to clean the house from top to bottom, leaving no picture frame or vase unturned. Lumen does her best to stay out of their way, and she finds her refuge by helping the groundskeeper weed the gardens. He is glad to accept her help, and she is happy just to be away from the chaos of the house.

"I can't tell if you're trying to grow herbs or ground ivy," Lumen teases, throwing a handful of ground ivy into an ever-growing pile of discarded greenery.

Silvan laughs, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "I can't tell, either," he says. "Worse yet is the nettle coming in from the north corner. It's determined to choke out the mint, which is the Justiciar's favorite, as you know."

The groundskeeper is a handsome, middle aged Bosmer with dark brown hair and a strong nose. He's always been kind to Lumen. Often going out of his way to speak with her about the various flowers he is planting, or will be planting in the future. Their conversations rarely went any further than that, lest they provoke Malrian and send him into a jealous rage.

"Lumen!" Aelfwynie's voice pulls Lumen from her work, and as much as Lumen does like the Altmer, she would prefer to be left to her mundane task for just a little while longer. "Oh, Lulu! Where are you, dear? Oh! There you are!"

"Lady Aelfwynie." Lumen inclines her head, and remains on her knees in the dirt.

"I hate to disturb your- um, well- whatever it is that you're doing," she says, sounding vaguely disgusted. "But I just wanted to know if you'd be attending the party. Elaninde and I are trying to get a head-count."

Lumen wipes her hands on her trousers. "Master does not often host parties, but when he has he's never allowed me to attend."

"That's ridiculous! Oh, and speaking of ridiculous you should have heard him today! Claiming he was hosting a party 'under duress' and that we should all be ashamed of ourselves for forcing him to embarrass himself by entertaining a 'cow'. He is _so_ melodramatic! He doesn't even know what Ravienne looks like! Anyway- don't worry, Lulu, I'll talk to him. Surely he'll let you attend the party. A young lady should attend at least one party in her lifetime, right?"

"As you wish, my lady," Lumen says, overwhelmed. "I am honored that you thought to invite me."

"You're always so polite. It's so cute!," Aelfwynie chirps. "Oh! Maybe Elaninde and I can help you get dressed for the party! It'll be fun! We can give each other makeovers!" She squeals and claps her hands, then turns on her heel to run back to the house, presumably to plot Lumen's doom with Elaninde.

Lumen heaves a sigh once Aelfwynie is out of earshot. " _Fuck_ me," she groans.

Silvan tosses a clump of ground ivy at her, laughing. "Now that's not very polite at all. Was your father a sailor?"

"Maybe," Lumen says with a grin. "But you can't tell me that you would fancy being the lone Bosmer in a room full of Altmer."

His smile fades. "No," he says. "I don't envy you."

"Oh, well," Lumen sighs, and sets to work on another patch of ground ivy. "There's nothing to be done for it. I have no choice, and I'll get nowhere by sulking about it."

Silvan takes a breath, and she looks up at him, expecting him to say something. But whatever it is that he planned to say, he thinks better of it. Instead, he reaches over and covers her hand with his, giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze before pulling away. They work in silence after that. Silvan, upset by his inability to help her, and Lumen, terrified of the way her stomach flutters when he touches her. Just like when the farm boy touched her. Only this time she can't do anything about it. Because if anything happened to Silvan, Lumen would be truly heartbroken.


	2. Chapter 2

"Oh, Lulu! You look stunning, dear! Just stunning!"

Lumen examines her appearance in her full-length mirror, her cheeks burning with embarrassment at how very _little_ her dress conceals. The collar of the white silk dress is so low she's certain her breasts will come spilling out at the slightest provocation. A wide, jeweled belt cinches her waist and amplifies her generous hips, effectively giving her an hourglass shape.

"I don't think Master is going to approve..."

"To the Void with what he thinks," Elaninde says as she pulls Lumen's hair back into a half ponytail. "He's no fun at all. If we're lucky, maybe Lady Ravienne will be able to yank that stick out of his ass."

"He's so austere," Aelfwynie giggles. "He reminds me of Father."

The door to Lumen's room opens and Malrian steps inside. He's dressed to the nines in his formal Thalmor robes, which are cut to emphasize his shoulders and waist, making him look taller and thinner than his everyday robes do. But to Lumen, he just looks more intimidating than usual, especially when he frowns at her. "Elaninde, when I agreed to allow you and Aelfwynie to help her dress, _this_ is not what I expected! That dress is _not_ acceptable," he snaps.

"Of course it is! It's lovely and it shows off her _assets_ beautifully," Elaninde says, pleased at Malrian's poor reaction.

Malrian strides across the room and flings the doors to the wardrobe open, and after grabbing a sheer, white shawl from inside he thrusts it at Lumen. "Put this around your shoulders. I expect you to look like a proper young lady, not some tavern wench."

The two sisters regard Malrian coolly, and Aelfwynie says, "I've changed my mind, he _is_ Father."

Malrian grunts, electing not to respond to his sisters. "Meet me downstairs in ten minutes, pet. I'll be waiting in the foyer," he tells her, then leaves the room, muttering curses under his breath.

Aelfwynie places her hands on her hips. "Honestly, how are you supposed to have any fun? He is _so_ repressed."

"I am his property," Lumen says quietly, as she tugs the shawl around her shoulders. "I am to do as _he_ wishes, not as I wish."

Aelfwynie and Elaninde share a look, and the elder sister says, "He treats you less like a pet and more like a daughter. I'm surprised he hasn't locked you away in a tower."

"Don't give him any ideas," Lumen murmurs. "He's so upset about the party, perhaps I should change. I don't want to upset him further."

Aelfwynie dismisses the idea with a wave of her hand. "Don't worry, dear. He's just sulking because he isn't getting his way," she says as she adjusts her dress, which is a shimmering, silver taffeta gown.

"Exactly," Elaninde agrees, fluffing her long, red hair. Her emerald green dress contrasts nicely with her hair, the slits running up each side of the dress show off her long, slender legs, and the low-cut of the collar leaves very little to the imagination.

The three women make their way downstairs to the foyer, where Malrian and Elenwen are awaiting the arrival of their guests. The sisters chatter excitably and fawn over each other's clothing, their compliments sounding surprisingly genuine. Lumen stands beside Malrian, nervously fidgeting with her shawl and wishing she could just stay in her room with a book. But a gentle touch to her arm stills her; the soft graze of his fingers across her skin calming her just as much as it calms him.

* * *

The great hall is buzzing with noise. The string quartet in a far off corner can barely be heard over the murmur of a hundred conversations. Hired servants with silver trays flit through the crowd of pastel silks, and slick, black leather. Lumen stays close to Malrian's side, largely due to her dislike of crowds, and so she doesn't become lost in a sea of Thalmor. There are Thalmor _everywhere_. Various Justiciars and agents from all over Cyrodiil are there, accompanied by either their spouses, or lovers, or both. A few have even brought their pets to the party.

To her left, a Justiciar leading his pet by a leash; female, probably a Nord, with her eyes focused on the ground. Her spirit broken as many times as her crooked nose has been. To her right there is a male Redguard with a heavy gold collar clasped around his neck, tethered to his mistress by a delicate, jeweled leash.

And then there is Lumen; no visible scars, clean, cared for, dressed as nicely as any noble, and willingly following at her Master's heels like a dog. He has given her the illusion of freedom, but she is no more free than the Redguard on a leash. But a life within a gilded cage is still a life, isn't it? The thought of a life outside the walls of Malrian's estate is terrifying. A life on the outside is full of uncertainties, and here, under the care of her Master, _everything_ is certain.

A lump forms in her throat when she wonders who is more broken; the cosseted pet, or the beaten slave on a leash?

"Justiciar Malrian," a low, cultured voice purrs, and Lumen glances up to see an Altmer with black hair and cold, pitiless eyes. "I have heard a great deal about your… exploits, here in Cyrodiil. Namely the eradication of a certain menace that plagued us all. It is an honor to finally meet you."

Ah, her Master's claim to fame; the annihilation of a group of assassins that had apparently caused trouble for the Thalmor. That success in combination with the strong magicka that flows within his family's bloodline are the reasons so many females are chomping at the bit to get a breeding contract with him.

Malrian inclines his head in a slight bow. "Agent Lothian," he says. "To what do I owe the pleasure? Last I heard, you were stationed in Valenwood."

"Your sources do you little credit, Malrian," Lothian chuckles, seemingly pleased that Malrian's lack of current information. "I'm being transferred to Skyrim."

"Something as mundane as a transfer is hardly worth my notice."

"Well I can't blame you. If I were inundated with breeding contracts, I wouldn't notice a transfer either," Lothian says, then turns his gaze toward Lumen. "But I couldn't help but notice your little pet. No leash? I am impressed, Malrian. It's not easy to tame a Bosmer."

"I like a challenge," Malrian says sharply, and Lumen can tell that his patience with Lothian is wearing thin.

"And just look at how she's dressed," he says with a laugh. "I had no idea you were so indulgent."

Malrian's fingers twitch. "I am hardly the indulgent type," he says, danger threading in his voice. "If you'll excuse me, I need to speak with the First Emissary."

They find Elenwen at the edge of the crowd, speaking with her two younger sisters and accompanied by an Altmer Lumen doesn't recognize. But it's easy to guess who she is. Ravienne is taller than the other women, with flawless golden skin and bright, amber eyes, her black hair flowing across her shoulders in large, looping curls. Her dress is a deep, crimson red, and her neck is adorned with rubies and diamonds.

She is _gorgeous_.

"There you are," Elenwen says, sounding slightly anxious. "We've been waiting for quite some time."

"I apologize for the delay, sister," Malrian says, then bows to Ravienne. "Lady Ravienne, it is a great pleasure to finally meet you."

"And I, you," Ravienne says. "Your sisters have told me so much about you, and I am eager to learn more."

Lumen stands obediently at Malrian's side, silent and still as she surveys the crowd. She has no interest in a conversation of platitudes and artificial compliments. As intimidating as the party is, the throng of Altmer around her is rather interesting. Thalmor parading their pets around, while others gossip, flirt, and even glare at each other in open challenge. And there, in a far off corner is Lothian, staring directly at her. Their eyes meet, the corners of his mouth curling up into a smile that gives rise to the delicate hairs on the nape of her neck, and Lumen draws closer to her Master's side.

The sound of Elenwen's voice turns Lumen's attention away from Lothian and back to Malrian and his sisters. "So Ravienne, is he satisfactory?" she asks.

"Almost," Ravienne says, eyeing Malrian as a discerning patron eyes a piece of meat. "I am willing to sign the contract on the condition that Justiciar Malrian agrees to submit to a physical."

"Of course," Elenwen says with a nod. "I had a room prepared for such an occasion. It's just off the ballroom here, so we can do the physical, _hopefully_ sign the contracts, and then return to the party."

"Excuse me?" Malrian asks, appalled.

"It's a perfectly normal procedure, Malrian," Elenwen explains. "And quite necessary considering your age. Most Altmer begin breeding before they are one hundred and fifty, and you're nearly two hundred and seventy!"

"I don't care. It's degrading," he says, trying to keep his voice even.

"Oh _, come on_. You wouldn't purchase a cow without tasting the milk first, would you?" Elaninde says, and Aelfwynie sighs, shaking her head in exasperation. Malrian looks as if he would love to set them all on fire, as does Elenwen.

"I mean no offence, Justiciar," Ravienne says, hoping to smooth things over. "You're quite handsome, but that doesn't mean the rest of you is up to the task of breeding. I hope you understand, I am only thinking of our future children."

Malrian clenches his jaw, and Lumen takes a step away from him just in case he loses control of his temper. He takes a deep breath, swallowing his rage and forcing himself to smile. "I understand," he says, his voice strained. "Let's get this over with."

Lumen will never get used to seeing her Master obeying orders rather than giving them, and she rather enjoys the sight of him bending to his sister's will. Elenwen beckons for Malrian to follow her, and he, along with his sisters, Ravienne, and Lumen, leave the party behind and step into a side chamber just off the main room. The small room is usually reserved for guests who've had a little too much to drink, or just needed a moment of quiet. But today there is a dressing screen placed inside, with two Altmer women in healer's robes standing beside it.

"Do you _all_ have to be here?" Malrian snaps.

Elenwen sighs. "It is traditional for the family to be present for the physical and the signing."

"You'll be behind the screen so we won't be able to see anything, sweetie. There's nothing to be embarrassed about," Aelfwynie assures.

"We've seen everything anyway," Elaninde says. "I distinctly remember that little _nudist_ phase you went through when you were a child." His sisters all giggle at that, and Lumen stares at her feet, desperately trying not to smile.

"You'll need to get used to Elaninde's presence anyway. She and Ravienne have been lovers for years, and Ravienne is going to need her help as much as you're going to need your pet's," Elenwen says, sneering at the very thought of having Lumen involved.

"Ellie!" Aelfwynie exclaims, her hands fluttering nervously. "I told you their relationship isn't like that!"

Malrian opens his mouth, but then closes it again when he can find no words. His face is hard with outrage, and completely torn on what to shout about first; the fact that his sister will be in the room during the _disgusting_ mating process, or the fact that they assume Lumen will need to be there as well. "Why," he gasps, his voice shaking, "why do you all assume that I've been bedding my pet?"

"Haven't you?" Elenwen asks, not bothering to hide her disgust.

"No," he hisses through gritted teeth. "And you can examine her as well if you don't believe me."

An awkward silence falls over the group. Aelfwynie turns to stare intently at a painting on the wall, attempting to ignore to the conversation at hand, while Elaninde and Ravienne look almost disappointed by Malrian's revelation.

"That won't be necessary," Elenwen says, watching her brother curiously. "Go on and disrobe, then."

"Lumen," Malrian says, and Lumen's head snaps up. He rarely uses her real name, but when he does it's always to make a point. " _Leave_."

She is out the door in a matter of seconds, away from the tension of the small room and back into the swell of noise and energy of the ballroom. The crowd is far less intimidating now in comparison to the awkward situation she just left behind. She pushes through the cluster of leather, silk, and jewels and makes her way toward a serving table laden with cocktails made from West Weald Wine and peach nectar. But before Lumen can get her hands on a glass of the delicious drink, a gloved hand clamps hard around her wrist.

Lothian grins at her. "It would be a shame for such a delicacy to be wasted on your uncivilized palate."

"I beg your pardon, sir, but I am perfectly civilized," Lumen says, trying to pull away from him, only for his grip to tighten.

"Oh, I think not," he purrs, stepping closer and looming over her. "Just because you're dressed like nobility does not mean you are. You're no different than a lapdog that wears clothes to amuse its masters."

"I am sure my Master would thank you for that assessment," Lumen snaps, frantically looking around for someone to help her, but the guards and servants all avert their eyes. If her Master were here, he would put a stop to this. But Malrian is still presumably bickering with Elenwen, and the Eight only knew how long that might go on. "Let me go!"

Lothian chuckles, and now his grip on her wrist is so tight she cannot feel her fingers. "You dare to command me?" he asks, more amused than insulted. He cups her cheek with his free hand, rubbing his thumb across the swell of her lips. "I wonder if your master would permit me to borrow you for a night, see if I could tame you where he has obviously failed. I've spent enough time in Valenwood to know exactly what it takes to make one of your kind break."

She could kill him. She could smash one of the cocktail glasses and jab the shards into his neck, and the bastard wouldn't even know it happened until he was bleeding out on the floor. But she can't. Lothian is not some guard that has overstepped his bounds, he's a Thalmor agent. Even if she killed him in secret his death would be difficult to cover up, and she certainly can't kill him _here_ in front of hundreds of witnesses. So she does the only thing she can do; she kicks him squarely between the legs.

Lothian's knees buckle as a pained gasp escapes him, and Lumen finally manages to pull away. A handful of witnesses gasp, and quite a few laugh, but Lumen pays them no mind. She flees from the ballroom and dashes through the hallways of Malrian's estate so fast that the portraits and fixtures flash by in an opulent blur. There is nothing she can do but run and hide, and she runs to the one place Lothian won't think to look, but her master will; her mother's old alchemy room. The room is just an empty space in the cellar now, yet even after all these years it still smells like her. Nightshade, cloves, and mint, and maybe it's just the way the wind flows through the cellar, but if she listens hard enough she thinks she can still hear her mother humming softly.

Lumen curls up in the corner to wait for Malrian, and the beating that is certain to come. She welcomes his punishments over whatever Lothian had planned for her; at least her master has his limits.

* * *

"Lumen," he says, his tone firm and adamant because he will _not_ allow his pet to witness his degradation. " _Leave_."

She doesn't bother to bow or to even murmur a _yes, Master_ , she is simply gone in a flash and Malrian could not be more grateful for her haste, or her obedience. At least someone in this house respects him. He doubts he'll be able to respect himself after this ridiculous and utterly humiliating physical is done.

His sisters talk quietly as he steps behind the privacy screen to disrobe, and he hands his clothes to one of the healers who carefully drapes them over the back of a nearby chair. When he is finally undressed, he takes in a deep breath, steeling himself for what's to come. "I'm ready," he says, not at all prepared for what the healers are going to put him through.

They step behind the screen, and the one who took his clothes speaks. "My name is Calia, and this is my assistant, Orynda. I will conduct your physical exam while my assistant asks you a few questions about your sexual history," she explains, then pulls a long, marked strip of leather from her pocket. "Are you ready to begin?"

"As ready as I will ever be." Which is not ready at all, but Malrian has little choice at this point.

Calia begins measuring his body; from his toes, to his feet, then his legs, and then finally his private areas. Taking careful notes of both width and length, and then moving on to measure his torso and arms.

"How many sexual partners have you had?" Orynda asks, not bothering to look up from her list.

"Two."

"I need to know their names and races, please," she says while making a note.

"Why?" he asks.

Elenwen sighs in exasperation. "How did I know you were going to argue?" she asks, and steps closer to the privacy screen, but remains on the opposite side. "There is a clause within the breeding contract stating that all past or current partners must be disclosed, and possibly noted and evaluated if necessary."

Orynda nods and adds, "A paramour might distract you from your breeding partner, you see, and you are barred from having relations with them until Lady Ravienne conceives."

"One is in Alinor and the other is dead," he says, glancing at Calia when she listens to his heart with a small, very cold, instrument. "They are hardly a distraction."

"I still have to make note of their names and races as per the contract the First Emissary Elenwen and Lady Ravienne drafted," Orynda explains patiently, and on the other side of the screen, he can hear Elenwen clear her throat; a sign that she was losing her patience with him.

"I cannot remember the name of my first. It was ages ago and it only happened once," he says, remembering his first time. All he wanted to do was satisfy his curiosity, and once he did, he decided he didn't want to go through _that_ again. Sex felt messy and unclean. The release was all well and good, but he could take care of his needs on his own, and in a much cleaner fashion.

Orynda nods, making a note and then asking, "Her race?"

"Altmer."

"Name and race of the second, please."

"Aranwen," he says, his breath catching when he utters a name he hasn't spoken in years. Sex with Aranwen hadn't been terribly uncomfortable. He'd done it because she wanted to, and he desperately wanted to make her happy. He'd been foolishly blinded by her beauty and charm, and unable to see the danger that lurked beneath until it was too late. "She was-" he hesitates, preparing himself for any screeching that might come from his sisters when he says so, "a Bosmer."

Orynda clicks her tongue, and Elenwen says, "Oh, Malrian, _really_. Mother and Father would be so disappointed."

Malrian grits his teeth. "Any further questions?"

"A few more," Orynda says, glancing at him. "When was the last time you had sex?"

"It's been at least ten years."

From the other side of the screen he can hear Elaninde's muffled laugh. "No wonder he's so frustrated," she says, and Aelfwynie shushes her.

"How often to you pleasure yourself?" Orynda asks.

Malrian opens his mouth to argue, but Elenwen's voice cuts him off. "The contract bars you from self-pleasure until Lady Ravienne conceives," she tells him.

"That is hardly something I mark on my calendar," he snaps.

"Then give me your best estimate, Justiciar."

Malrian heaves a sigh and says, "Maybe once or twice a month." A bit of an overestimation, but he didn't often feel that particular urge. He could usually ignore it, but when it became too much to ignore, he simply treated it as any other bodily function; something to be dealt with and then forgotten about.

"Oh, that explains _so_ much," Elaninde says, not bothering to mask the delight in her voice.

"Is there anything in that contract that bars me from murdering my sister?" he growls.

Elaninde laughs. "I'd like to see you try, dear brother."

"Stop picking on each other!" Aelfwynie whines. "It's not nice!"

"Are we finished? I do believe I have been sufficiently mortified for one evening," he asks, then yelps when Calia cups his sac in her cold hands. "W-what are you doing?"

"Measuring," she answers simply.

"I am finished with my questions, thank you for your cooperation," Orynda says, bowing slightly and stepping out from behind the privacy screen to give her notes to Elenwen.

"How is it going back there? Are there any abnormalities that I should be aware of?" Ravienne asks.

"He's perfectly healthy and in good shape," Calia answers. "His phallus is an acceptable girth, but it's a bit longer than what is preferred. It's generally accepted that the longer it is, the higher the chance you have of conceiving males rather than females."

"Oh," Ravienne says flatly, clearly disappointed.

"That's nonsense!" Aelfwynie chimes in. "My darling husband is on the longer side and we've had three girls so far!"

Calia turns her attention back to Malrian. "We're almost finished, Justiciar. I just need to check your prostate."

Malrian can feel all the blood drain from his face, and he wonders if he might faint. He hopes he does. Because then maybe he can get out of this miserable breeding business and go back to serving the Dominion in his _own_ way. "No," he says firmly. "Absolutely not."

"But Justiciar-"

" _No_ ," he snarls. "Touch me again and I'll break your fingers!"

"Malrian!" Aelfwynie yells. "That is quite rude, and I know you were raised better than that!"

"There is no reason for her to stick her fingers _there,_ " he snaps, wishing that he could just be away from this wretched woman who is determined to violate every inch of him with her cold hands. But then, there is a frantic knock on the door, and Malrian wonders if Auri-El himself has heard his desperate pleas.

"Oh, for the love of-" Elenwen mutters, striding across the room and opening the door. "What is the meaning of this interruption?"

"My apologies, First Emissary, but there's been an incident," the guard explains. "Agent Lothian is claiming that Lumen attacked him without provocation. He's making quite a scene."

"What?" Malrian gasps. "Where is Lumen now?"

"I don't know, she fled the ballroom," the guard answers.

"I know where she is. Calia, hand me my clothes, I need to-"

"No. I will deal with this," Elenwen says. "I'll try to smooth things over with Agent Lothian. You are to stay here and finish your exam, and then you can go deal with that rabid beast of yours."

"Elenwen-"

"That is an _order_ , Justiciar," Elenwen says, then turns on her heel and leaves the room.

Malrian is seething with anger. He hates it when Elenwen pulls rank on him, and he hates the fact that he cannot go and deal with whatever chaos his pet has caused. He left her alone for only ten minutes. What could possibly have happened in that small amount of time that would cause her to attack a Thalmor agent? He clenches his hands into fists, trying with all his might to control his fury and keep his magicka from flaring.

He is going to _kill_ that girl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Thalmor are obsessed with racial purity and potent majicka within bloodlines, therefore they have a very clinical, unromantic approach to breeding. I think your normal, average Altmer would obviously have normal courtships, though.
> 
> I want to thank Heiwako for suggesting that Malrian go through an embarrassing physical. It ended up being very amusing to write. XD Thanks to Heiwako, CSphire, and ClandestineAssassin for their feedback! :) And thanks to everyone who has left comments on this. I'm glad people are enjoying this little fic! :D


	3. Chapter 3

Warning for Lothian being a bit of a creeper, but you all know he is anyway, so...

* * *

The cellar door opens, and the scrape of heavy wood upon the gritty cobblestone floor sends a chill down Lumen's spine. She starts to shake at the sound of footsteps descending the wooden stairs. Each step growing closer and louder like the thunder of an approaching storm. Lumen presses herself hard into the corner of the room, wishing she could just disappear into the cold, stone wall.

A sob escapes her when Malrian appears in the doorway of the small room. "Master, please- please let me explain!"

"You presume," he growls, and a tendril of electricity flickers across his clenched fist. "That I am interested in your excuses."

"I was frightened," she gasps, crawling across the floor and groveling at her master's feet. "He grabbed me and I panicked!"

"Frightened? You have nothing to fear from Lothian, pet," Malrian says, and if he is upset about Lothian touching his property, he doesn't let it show. Instead, he grabs Lumen by her hair, just above the nape of her neck, and yanks her to her feet with ease. "But you have _everything_ to fear from me," he growls, his eyes boring into hers. "I may look the other way when you butcher my guards, but do not think for a moment that I will tolerate you attacking a Thalmor agent in my own home!"

"But-"

" _Silence_ ," he hisses. "Do you have any idea how this makes me look? How can they trust me to command my guards if I cannot control one, lowly Bosmer? As it is, Lothian is threatening to file an official complaint, and he's demanding monetary compensation for the pain and suffering you inflicted on him." Malrian's fingers tighten in her hair, and he gives her a little shake, as if she is nothing more than a naughty pup. "I am in no mood to empty my coffers for that indolent fool, so you are going to apologize and beg him for forgiveness. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Master," Lumen gasps. "I understand."

"Good," he says, and starts to walk toward the staircase, dragging Lumen along by her hair.

Lumen walks quickly on the tips of her toes to reduce the pain of Malrian's hair-pulling. Her eyes sting, and she isn't certain if it's from pain or from shame. The thought of falling at Lothian's feet and begging him for anything is appalling, and it's all Lumen can do to keep from crying. She may have to submit to him, but she'll not give him the satisfaction of seeing her tears.

Malrian drags her up the stairs, through the kitchens and the hallway, where the departing guests take notice and laugh. Lumen can't tell if they are laughing at her or Malrian, but his fingers clenching even tighter against her scalp is all the answer she needs. He practically throws her into his office, and she stumbles forward, landing gracelessly on her knees at Lothian's feet.

"Ah, I see you've finally found your little mongrel," Elenwen says, then turns to Lothian. "Do I need to be here while you and Justiciar Malrian sort things out?"

"Oh, no. But I thank you for your concern, First Emissary. I'm sure Malrian's little beast knows better than to attack me again," Lothian says, narrowing his eyes at Lumen. "Don't you, dear?"

"I know better." Lumen splays her hands on the floor and bows until her forehead touches the polished wood floor. "I've come to- to beg you for your forgiveness, sir," Lumen says, then against her better judgment she adds, "and to ask you to punish me, and not my master. I acted rashly, and I would hate to see his name sullied among the Thalmor ranks by my bad behavior."

Lothian laughs, and Elenwen makes a small, amused sound as she steps away from him. "I'll leave you to it. Malrian, I will see your guests out while you and Lothian work towards a resolution." Elenwen slips from the room, gently pulling the door closed behind her.

"Stand up, girl. I'm sure we can handle this in a more civilized manner." Lothian grips her by the arm and pulls Lumen to her feet. "If you're so concerned about your master and I smoothing things over, then perhaps you ought to offer me a glass of wine. I am so much more agreeable after a fine red."

Lumen gives a slight bow before stepping away from him to fetch two wine glasses from a nearby serving table. Malrian takes a seat behind his desk, while Lothian settles into the chair on the opposite side.

"Agent, I do hope we can come to an agreement. It would be a shame to get any officials involved in this little misunderstanding," Malrian says as he accepts a wine glass from Lumen.

Lothian takes his offered wine glass, caressing Lumen's fingers with his as she pulls away. "This is hardly a 'misunderstanding'. Your little savage attacked me. There are multiple witnesses, you know."

Malrian's eyes flick to Lumen as she pours his wine, then back to Lothian. "There are also multiple witnesses who claim you got what you deserved. That you were, in fact, manhandling my property."

"Perhaps they are misinterpreting what they saw. I barely touched the girl, whereas she kicked me as hard as she could," Lothian says, watching Lumen as she comes to fill his wineglass, and purposely tilting it so that some wine slops over the edge and spills across his fingers. "Oh dear, how clumsy of you."

Lumen grits her teeth. "I'm sorry, sir- I'll get a towel-"

"There's no need for a towel," Lothian says, offering his hand to Lumen. "And it would be a shame to waste such fine wine, wouldn't it?"

"Sir, I-" Lumen stammers, disgust twisting her stomach when she realizes what he wants her to do. She looks to Malrian and says, "Master, please. Don't make me do this."

"Did you not ask that I punish you rather than your master, girl?" Lothian chuckles. "You see, Malrian, you pet is in dire need of proper training. Though it's really not surprising that you're a soft touch, I hear tale that your father bought your way into this position." He smirks at Malrian, then says to Lumen. "Kneel."

Malrian's face is as hard as stone, and just as emotionless. "Do as our guest commands," he says smoothly, but Lumen can hear the hint of danger in his voice. A promise of pain woven in his calm tones, and for once, the threat is not aimed at her.

Lumen swallows hard, praying to the Eight Divines that she doesn't throw up. She kneels beside Lothian, unable to keep from shaking all over when he traces her lips with a wine-slicked finger. "I'll make you a deal, Malrian. Grant me a night with your pet, and we can pretend this little fiasco never happened."

"A night to do _what_ , exactly?" Malrian asks, even though he already knows what Lothian is after.

"Presumably to do the same things you do with the little tart every night- or should be doing, at any rate." Lothian pushes his finger between Lumen's resisting lips and says, "I am aware that you Bosmer are quite fond of biting, but I'd better not feel teeth there, or any other part of my body."

For all the times her master has looked at her in the same way that Lothian is, he's never acted on the latent lust that lies beneath his gaze. He might watch her as if he'd like to. But he's never touched her, never violated her, or even threatened to. And clearly, the agent has gone too far. When the faint sizzle of electrical energy reaches Lumen's ears, she throws herself away from Lothian as a bolt of electricity tears through the air and hits him with so much force that it knocks him and the chair backwards.

The door to Malrian's office opens and Elenwen pokes her head inside. "Is everything all right, I thought I heard-" She gasps, quickly stepping inside and slamming the door. "Malrian! What is the meaning of this? You were supposed to correct a problem, not cause more of them!"

Malrian walks around his desk to stand above Lothian's convulsing form. "Oh, dear. I do believe he's going into cardiac arrest." he says coolly, his lips curling into an amused smile as he watches Lothian struggle and gasp for breath.

"Malrian!" Elenwen hisses. "This isn't funny. He could die-"

The thunderous roar of destruction magic drowns out Elenwen's words and silences the agent's futile gasps for breath. "There," Malrian sniffs. "Now the vile wretch is no longer a problem."

Elenwen's eyes are wide with fury. "You do realize that you have just murdered a Thalmor agent in front of the First Emissary? Explain yourself!"

"I don't have to explain myself." Malrian nudges Lothian with his foot. "I have every right to protect my property when it is threatened."

"Don't you dare try to claim self-defense on this one," Elenwen says, folding her arms and glaring at her brother. "It's _murder_."

Malrian shrugs. "It's only 'murder' if someone _tells_ , dear sister. My pet and I won't speak of what happened here if you don't."

"How dare you put me in this position!" Elenwen shrieks, clenching her fists and looking as if she'd like to electrocute Malrian as well. "How _dare_ you!"

"You have a choice to make this an issue or a non-issue," Malrian snaps. "Which are you going to choose?"

Elenwen rubs her temples in a vain attempt to ward off a headache. "Do you have any idea how much trouble it's going to be to cover this up?"

"Very little if you let me handle this on my own. I know what I'm doing," Malrian says, his voice softening as he tries to soothe his sister. "I can make this go away."

"Should I be worried that you have experience in covering up illicit activities?" Elenwen asks, sounding a little defeated. Then she shakes her head, clearly not wanting to hear any of Malrian's reasons. "I don't care- just make it happen, and by the Eight, you'd better give me _multiple_ nieces for all the stress I've had to endure tonight!" Elenwen storms away from Malrian, muttering a string of some of the most vile curses Lumen has ever heard. She leaves the office for the second time, slamming the door so hard the paintings on the walls rattle.

Malrian stares at the door, then turns his attention to Lothian's still smoldering remains. A definite overkill on Malrian's part, but it was done to make a point. The point being that Malrian will not tolerate having his properly molested, nor did his father buy his way through the Thalmor ranks. It was good breeding and an impressive command of destruction magic that earned Malrian his title, not his father's wealth.

He turns away from Lothian and steps toward Lumen, walking slowly as one would approach a frightened animal. He reaches out and gently caresses her jaw as he guides her to look up at him. "Are you well, pet?" he asks.

"I am," Lumen answers, shivering from the prickle of electricity that still lingers on her master's fingertips. "Will things be all right with Mistress Elenwen? She was quite angry..."

"Don't worry about her. My sister may act proper, but her hands are just as bloodied as mine. I know for a fact that she's had to permanently silence a few problem Thalmor in the past." At Lumen's confused expression he chuckles softly, and explains, "Chatty guards, dear. Information is quite valuable, as you know. A guard claimed to have some rather scandalous information on my sister, she found out what he was planning to do before the information trade could be organized, and he _disappeared_."

Lumen nods her understanding, not in the least bit troubled with the knowledge that Elenwen is just as bloodthirsty as Malrian is. Murder and intrigue are fairly commonplace within the upper echelons of the Thalmor, and Lumen has lived with it for most of her life. Even now, in the wake of watching her Master murder a fellow Thalmor, the scent of his smoldering body still lingering in the air, Lumen feels nothing at all.

"Stand up, pet," Malrian says, helping Lumen to her feet. "It's time to make Lothian disappear."

* * *

The night air is hot and sticky, and Lumen is covered in sweat thanks to her master ordering her to drag Lothian's worthless carcass out into the orchard for disposal. Her silk dress clings to her sweaty skin, which only adds to her discomfort and irritation. Once she's past the first two rows of fruit trees she drops Lothian's corpse and leans against the trunk of an apple tree. The thick, humid air is filled with the scent of fruit and pollen. Night birds and various insects sing their songs of summer and for a moment it's almost pleasant. That is until Lumen looks down at the lifeless body at her feet. A body she still has to drag to the edges of the orchard.

"Bastard," she hisses. "It wouldn't kill him to help me, the lousy son of a-"

"I apologize, my lady. But I got here as soon as I could," Silvan says, stepping from the deep shadows of the grove and into a silvery pool of moonlight. The ash-wood handle of his shovel rests against his shoulder, and he smiles tightly when Lumen claps her hand over her mouth to keep from crying out in surprise.

"I wasn't talking about you," she says through her fingers, her cheeks burning with embarrassment.

"It would be better for the both of us if you were, Lu." His eyes are hard and serious, devoid of their usual warmth and replaced by a bitter fear. They both know if Malrian heard her talking about him like that, beloved pet or not, she'd probably lose her tongue.

She turns away, unable to sustain eye-contact with him when he is looking at her like _that_. "The grave is prepared, I take it?"

"Yes," Silvan says. "Near the plum trees, just as the Justiciar requested."

"Good, let's get this over with."

Both are eager to be done with this gruesome task, and between the two of them it does not take long to drag the body through the orchard. The grave is at the edge of the grove, near the tall, stone wall that surrounds Malrian's property. Silvan rolls the body into the grave with little ceremony, and a heavy silence falls over them as he fills the grave with dirt.

This isn't the first time her master has taken a life, and it isn't the first time Lumen and Silvan have had to dispose of the remains. The servants and the guards know Malrian has a temper, and they may even have their suspicions as to why the Nightshades grow so well on his property, but only Lumen and Silvan know the truth.

Silvan leans his shovel against the stone wall. "You are awfully quiet," he says while wiping the sweat from his brow. "Are you upset?"

"About this? Hardly." Lumen glances at the newly filled grave. "Master did me a favor when he killed the agent."

"A favor you will have to pay for, no doubt," Silvan says quietly, his eyes full of concern.

Lumen laughs, but there is no humor behind it. "Didn't you advise me to hold my tongue earlier?"

The corner of Silvan's mouth quirks into a mirthless grin as he looks away, and Lumen can't help but notice how the moonlight dances off his dark hair, illuminating the sparse, silver hairs that have become more numerous over the years. "I mean no insult to the Justiciar," he murmurs, turning to face her again, and chancing a step closer. "But I do worry about you."

"You shouldn't," she says, attempting to keep her voice steady. "You'll give yourself more gray hair."

He does smile at that, and a pleasant warmth settles over Lumen at the sight of it. "I didn't realize they were getting so noticeable," he says, running a hand through his short, messy hair.

"They are, but I actually like them," she says, and her eyes are inexplicably drawn to the small dimples that form at the corners of his mouth when his smile widens. Her flirtations are painfully clumsy, and she knows she's probably making a fool of herself. But she doesn't care. She'll gladly continue to be foolish if it means he'll keep smiling at her like that.

"I am glad they meet your approval, and since we're exchanging pleasantries, might I say how lovely you look tonight?"

She looks down at her dress, feeling self-conscious despite the compliment. "Oh- um, thank you," she says uncertainly, wincing at how stupid she sounds, but she finds it hard to believe that she looks 'lovely' at all. Not when she's covered with sweat, her hair mussed, and with mud and grass stains adorning the hem of her white, silk dress.

"You're welcome," he says, stepping even closer, his voice low and somehow deeper, and Lumen doesn't even know how that's possible. Stranger still is the fluttering in her chest, and the way her stomach leaps when his fingers curl around hers, his thumb rubbing across the back of her hand as he places a soft kiss on her knuckles.

For a moment she feels like she might faint. She isn't certain how something so simple and innocent could send her reeling and make her weak in the knees but it _does_. Lumen's eyes flick from her hand, to Silvan, and then back again. Not quite knowing how to respond.

"I- I'm sorry, Lu. I shouldn't have-" Silvan says, dropping her hand as if he's touched something he ought not to.

He isn't wrong to do so, and Lumen wouldn't blame him if he ran away from her for his own sake. It's not as if her heart and body are hers to give anyway. Not a single piece of her truly belongs to herself, and if her master caught them like this- well, she'd rather not think about what he might do. Instead of fretting, she takes a breath to steel herself and says, "I wouldn't mind if you did it again."

He shakes his head, looking as forlorn as Lumen has ever seen him. "I'd cover you in them if I could," he says breathlessly. "But the Justiciar- He'd kill me for certain, and I'd rather not think about what he'd do to you."

"You- you would-" The idea of having his mouth travel further than just her hand brings Lumen's thoughts to a halt, and the threat of punishment is not enough to prevent her from closing the gap between them and pressing her lips to his. Her kiss is clumsy and desperate, but she doesn't know when she'll get another chance to kiss him.

To her immense pleasure, the threat of death by Malrian's hand is not enough to deter Silvan from responding to her kiss. He gently cups her face in his hands, his thumbs brushing lightly against her jaw while his lips move against hers. But where Lumen's kisses are clumsy and inexperienced, Silvan's are slow and deliberate. His certainty quells her desperation, and his deep, searching kisses chase away all her worries. Unfortunately, Silvan has not forgotten about the dead Altmer resting beneath their feet, and Lumen's master awaiting her return.

Silvan presses his forehead against hers, his eyes shut tight as if he's in pain. "Go home, Lu," he says softly, and even though his voice his warm and soft, his dismissal still stings.

Lumen turns away, not wanting him to see the hurt in her eyes, and knowing that he is right to send her away. Knowing that he is right to deny them both of the thing they want for the sake of their own safety. But that knowledge does little to ease the bitter ache that forms in Lumen's chest, and grows stronger with each step she takes closer to home.

* * *

In the following days, Lumen throws herself into her duties. Preferring to dote upon Malrian rather than allow her thoughts to wander back to what happened just a few nights ago. The passage of time does little to ease the ache she feels in the pit of her stomach whenever she thinks of Silvan, nor does it douse the heat that courses through her whenever she thinks of the kiss they shared. But it is easier not to think of such things. Longing will cause nothing but misery in the end.

Unfortunately for Lumen, longing is all she can seem to do. Everywhere she goes something reminds her of the handsome groundskeeper. Outside every window is a garden he has tended to, and inside every corridor and on top of every table is a vase of fresh-cut flowers that he personally grew.

Lumen stands near the large, bow window in Malrian's study. Her master and his sisters chat amicably behind her, but Lumen pays no attention to their conversation. The window is slightly ajar, letting in the pleasing aroma of the Evening Stock planted just beneath it. Beyond the scape of small, purple flowers is a path, and beyond the path is a lush rose garden. The rose garden is particularly interesting to Lumen this evening. Not because the Moonlight roses happen to be blooming, but because Silvan is tilling the dirt beside them. She can't help but watch, utterly fascinated, at the flex and pull of his lean muscles, which are made all the more noticeable by the way the thin, sheen of sweat on his skin catches the last rays of sunlight.

"Pet. Pet- Are you paying attention? _Lumen_!"

She spins around to face her master, her heart pounding. "I'm sorry, Master, I was-"

"Daydreaming," Malrian snaps.

"Forgive me," she says, bowing. "What is it you wish of me?"

"I was going to ask you to bring us some tea, but I'll just go do it myself since you're so busy woolgathering." With a sneer, Malrian rises to his feet and storms out of the room.

Lumen winces, knowing her inattention is going to cost her dearly later on. Her master can be kind enough when he wants to be. He can be affectionate and generous, and sometimes he can almost fool her into thinking that he actually loves her. But it is just a facade used to lull her into a false sense of security. Her true master is the one that emerges when she's done something to anger him. Her true master is sadistic and cruel, taking pleasure from the pain he inflicts on her and anyone else who is unfortunate enough to be the focus of his rage.

Elenwen and Aelfwynie talk quietly after Malrian leaves, and Elaninde shares a look with Ravienne before coming to stand next to Lumen. "What's got you so preoccupied, dear? _Oh_ -" Elaninde grins when she glances out the window. "Ravienne, come here. You simply must come see."

Ravienne stands on the other side of Lumen, practically purring when she says, "Oh my, this window offers quite the view, doesn't it?"

"Indeed," Elaninde says, then quietly, just so Lumen and Ravienne can hear, "I'd let him plow my garden any day."

Lumen gasps, unused to such innuendo and uncertain as to how she should respond to it. But Ravienne steps in before Lumen can form a responce. "Your brother's little pet has good taste, doesn't she? I wonder what Malrian would say if he knew she was ignoring him to gawk at the groundskeeper."

"He'd blow his top is what he'd do," Elaninde says, grinning wickedly at Ravienne.

"Please mistresses," Lumen pleads, terrified of what would happen if he knew. "I was only looking at the roses!"

"Oh, please. We weren't born yesterday," Ravienne says. "Besides, there's nothing wrong with looking."

"I'd do more than just look if I were you," Elaninde says. "It must be so terribly frustrating being stuck in here with that old curmudgeon all the time. Especially when you've got a groundskeeper who looks like a gift from Dibella herself."

Ravienne laughs softly. "Judging by the way she's blushing, I daresay she _has_ done more than just look, Elaninde."

Lumen buries her face in her hands, her voice muffled when she says, "I've only ever talked to him- and we only spoke about flowers." A lie, obviously, but she has no desire to put Silvan or herself in harms way, and she knows better than to trust an Altmer with her secrets.

"That's a shame," Elaninde says, sounding a little disappointed. "I'm sure you can think of more interesting things to do with him than just talk. Well- maybe you can't. You do live with my brother, after all. But I assure you, a man's mouth can be put to far better uses than just talking."

"I- I wouldn't know," Lumen admits.

"Perhaps you'll find out. I'll have your Master distracted for a while, which will give you plenty of time to sow your wild oats," Ravienne laughs. "I guess you could just have the groundskeeper sow them for you."

Lumen grits her teeth and curses herself for being so damn obvious, and curses the two lovers for being so damn perceptive. But despite her annoyance with herself and them, what Ravienne is saying is- well, it's _true_. Her master will be distracted for unknown amounts of time until this breeding business is concluded, and the Eight only know how long that will take. Lumen knows she ought to leave Silvan well alone and simply count loneliness as her lot in life, but the desire to feel his touch again is chasing all sense from her mind. Maybe if she's careful, and really, _really_ sneaky, then perhaps she can get what she wants without her master ever finding out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank my lovely betas, Heiwako and CSphire, for all their feedback and support. And I also want to thank everyone who's taken the time to leave me feedback for this story. I struggled with this chapter (actually, I've just been struggling with writing in general lately) and so all the nice comments have really urged me to keep going. So thank you all! I hope you enjoy this chapter. :)
> 
> This chapter is a little darker than the previous two, I think. But I am going to try my best to keep this story somewhat light.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for psychological/physical abuse.

Lumen stands beside Malrian while he works at his large, oak desk. He has not uttered a single command to her since her lapse in attention earlier that evening, and now that his sisters have retired for the night, all Malrian seems to require of her is her quiet presence. Her master is going through what seems to be endless amounts of correspondence, and her eyes occasionally roam across the papers scattered around his desk. There is little there that interests her, however. She doesn't care where Malrian is sending troops, or whose home is being raided on suspicions of Talos worship. The only thing of interest on his desk is the small, sharp dagger Malrian uses to open his letters with.

That very same blade has also been used to punish Lumen for one transgression or another. Once, many years ago, for biting her nails. Malrian reasoned that she'd be broken of the habit if she no longer had nails to bite. There was another time when he held the blade beneath her eye, the tapered tip occasionally brushing along her lower lashes as he described how he'd removed the eye of a prisoner during an interrogation. He didn't injure her that day, but Lumen would never forget the terror she felt.

Now, though, that blade does not cause fear to course through her veins, but _fire_. The blade is deadly and sharp, and just within her reach, and her master is foolishly exposing his neck to her, the arteries within throbbing with every beat of his heart. It would be so easy to grab the blade and-

Lumen sucks in a hissing breath, reeling from the very idea of harming her master. She's entertained thoughts of running away, of screaming at him, but never of hurting him. There mere thought of doing so _terrifies_ her. If she turned against him, it would be the last thing she'd ever do. She would not survive his wrath.

And she may not survive it now, as her loud intake of breath draws his attention away from his work. He turns to stare at her with cold, blue eyes, seething with an anger that she is intimately familiar with.

"I apologize, master," she says quietly, hanging her head in contrition. "I had a sudden chill."

Malrian takes her hand, his fingers closing around it painfully tight. "Look at me, pet," he commands.

Lumen does as she's bid; meeting her master's gaze and really wishing she hadn't. They stay like that for many seconds, silent and unmoving, and Lumen is afraid to blink or to breathe, lest her master take it as a sign of defiance.

"You have been recalcitrant as of late," he says, squeezing her fingers tighter. "I think you are starting to forget your place." Malrian stands, his movements graceful and fluid like a snake as he rises to his full height, swallowing Lumen's small form in his imposing shadow. His blonde hair slips across the shoulders of his slick, black robes as he looms over her, framing his face so that his furious gaze is all she can see.

There is nothing left to do except offer platitudes and pray that her master shows her some semblance of mercy, even though he is not likely to give it. "I am yours to do with as you please, master," she says, her body trembling in fear. "My only wish is to do your will."

"Such pretty words from my pretty, little pet," Malrian says, his lips curving into a dangerous smile. "You remind me of her, you know. You look so much like your mother it's-" He cuts himself off, deciding not to continue with that particular line of thought. Instead, he grips her index and middle fingers, forcing them into an uncomfortable angle. In contrast, he strokes her face with his other hand, his thumb delicately caressing her cheek. "And I cannot help but wonder if you will turn on me, just as your mother did."

"Never," she gasps. "I would never betray you."

His smile slowly fades. "You don't sound as sincere as you used to, and that's such a shame." Malrian leans closer, so close that she can smell the cloves and mint from his evening tea on his breath. "Don't scream."

That simple order is all the warning he gives her before wrenching her fingers into an angle they were most certainly never meant to be at. The sharp, searing pain is followed by a sickening crunch as the tiny bones of her fingers snap. Lumen's free hand is clasped over her mouth, holding in a scream she so dearly wants to unleash.

"Did you think that I would forget to punish you for the little scene you caused at my party?" he asks, his face drawing into a deep scowl. "Did you think I would forget that you blatantly ignored me today?" His fingers leave her broken ones, gripping her ring finger next. "Do you really think I will tolerate insubordination from _you_?" Malrian's question is followed by another crack, and Lumen's knees buckle from the pain, her eyes blurring with tears as the agony becomes too much to swallow.

Along with the pain, a loathsome sense of insecurity creeps over her. She is just a pet. Lower than any dog. Just a worthless, little creature cowering at her master's feet and lapping up his punishments as eagerly as she takes his rewards. It's enough to make her sick. Yet, in the turmoil of her mind she can hear a voice, a voice that sounds like hers but it's different somehow. _How dare him! He has no right!_ That voice invokes an image of a very different scenario; her boot upon her master's throat, his blood on her hands, his voice crying out for mercy that he knows she will not give.

Years ago, Lumen began to build a wall around her heart. A wall to seal off the most vulnerable parts of herself. It was done to keep from drowning in the squalid depths of her despair. But now, in the place of her despair sparks a rage that burns white-hot like dragon fire. This is _new_ , and it frightens her as much as it thrills her.

Malrian's foot is upon her shoulder, pushing her against the floor as he stands over her, glaring. "You will receive healing when you learn how to behave," he snaps. "Now get out of my sight."

* * *

Malrian watches Lumen run from his study with no small amount of satisfaction. That girl has been getting out of hand as of late, and it was time to put her back in her place. It is not the worst punishment she's ever endured, and if three broken fingers don't drive his point home... Well, there are more bones left in her body to break. Hopefully it will not come to that, though. Bones are notoriously difficult to heal correctly, and it would greatly annoy him to leave his pet with any lasting damage.

He can't help but mourn the days when Lumen was young and obedient, when she was just a tiny, little thing hiding behind Aranwen's skirts. It doesn't help that Lumen looks exactly like her mother. She looks so much like her, sometimes he wonders if the Eight are playing a cruel joke on him. It's confusing, frustrating, and just a little bit distracting. It has gotten to the point where he just doesn't know how to treat her anymore. She's a grown woman now, and he hates her for it. Why couldn't she have just stayed a sweet, little girl forever?

For that matter, why did Aranwen try to murder him all those years ago? He was never able to get a suitable answer out of the woman. Even when he employed Rulindil to interrogate her, she still insisted that she was working alone. Malrian never believed that. He'd been nothing but kind to Ara and her daughter, so there was no reason for her to want him dead. To this day, he still wants to believe she was part of the Dark Brotherhood. He has to believe it, because it hurts less than any other answer. Of course, after Ara succumbed to the injuries she sustained during her questioning, Malrian was left with Lumen. He considered killing the girl, he really did. But when she clung to him and cried for her mother, and then begged him not to abandon her, he just couldn't do it.

There was a sadistic pleasure in keeping Aranwen's daughter as a pet, and in taking his rage out on her. Yet, strangely, he realized early on that he would miss the girl if she were gone. So he kept her around; for both amusement and for company.

A knock on the door startles him out of his brooding. "Come in," he says, expecting Elenwen to be on the other side, ready to nag him about one thing or another.

"Ah, there you are." Ravienne slips into his office, softly shutting the door behind her. "Are you busy? I'd like to speak with you alone."

Malrian doesn't think _talking_ is exactly what Ravienne has in mind. She's wearing a sheer, black nightdress, and it is so translucent that she may as well be naked. "I-" he averts his eyes, preferring to stare at the inkwell on his desk. "I have a moment to spare. What do you wish to speak of?"

"Oh, this and that," she purrs, perching on the edge of his desk. "It occurred to me that even though we are to be mating, we really haven't spent that much time alone, and I think process would go much smoother if we got to know each other a little better."

"I see," he says, scooting his chair back from his desk, and most importantly, away from _her_. Unfortunately, Ravienne seems to take his retreat as an invitation to slide from the desk and into his lap. "My lady, this is quite _sudden_ and I daresay that you have caught me at a bad time-"

"It's hardly 'sudden' Malrian," she says, leaning closer and pressing her lips to his. His lack of response doesn't seem to bother her, and she moves to nip along his jaw line as her fingers work to undo the clasps of his leather robes.

Malrian's lip curls in disgust. Gods, he hates for anyone to act so shameless. This blatant, clumsy seduction is completely unnecessary, and there is absolutely no reason for Ravienne to behave like some two-copper whore. "Ravienne, please," he says, glad that he is able to keep his voice steady. "Now is not the time."

Ravienne leans back in order to look him in the eyes, breathing a deep, annoyed sigh as she does so. "I came here with the sole purpose of returning to Alinor with a child," she says tersely. "And I would prefer to go home sooner rather than later."

"I understand that, and I plan to provide you with said child as per the conditions of our contract," he says, fastening the clasps of his robe. "But not tonight."

Ravienne sighs. "It doesn't have to be so mechanical and boring, Malrian. For what it's worth, you're not really my type, but I am willing to work with you." She remains seated on his lap, unwilling to move just yet. "So tell me what you're into. Perhaps we will find out that we like some of the same things."

Malrian shifts uncomfortably under her slight form. "I am not into anything."

"Oh, come on. Everyone has something they like." Ravienne shrugs, a small smile playing on her lips. "You like _me_ , don't you?"

"I would like you more, my lady, if you would conduct yourself with a little more grace," he says, pleased at how stung she looks. "I would like you more if you hadn't come to me begging to be mounted like a bitch in heat."

" _What_?" Ravienne pushes away from him, her eyes shining with fury. "How dare you!" she hisses. "You've been living among the lesser races for too long if you think you can speak to an Altmer woman like that!"

Malrian watches as she storms over to the door of his study, presumably to go somewhere to lick her wounds. But he is unable to resist the urge to further harass her and he says, "Oh, Ravienne, about what I'm _into_..."

She turns to look at him. "What is it?" she snaps, her body rigid with anger. But despite her anger she is still willing to hear him out, if for no other reason than to make a child so she can leave Cyrodiil, and Malrian, behind.

A grim smile tugs at his lips. "You wouldn't survive it."

* * *

The throbbing pain in her left hand keeps her awake for most of the night, and when the first light of day filters in through the bedroom window, Lumen gives up on sleep and attempts to dress. It's not the first time she's lost the use of one of her hands, and after wrapping her injured hand in a white scarf to protect it, she pulls on a simple, cream-colored dress. There are only three buttons near the collar, which are easy enough to fasten one-handed.

Lumen paces around her room, feeling much like a beast trapped in a cage. The pain in her hand and the growling in her stomach are making her increasingly agitated. But the pain, and the hunger, will not end until her master feels merciful. And that could take days.

She flinches when she steps on a squeaky floorboard, quickly moving away from it and over to her window. " _Be still_ ," she whispers to herself, and presses her forehead against the windowpane. From her second story room, she can see over the tall, stone wall that surrounds the estate. Beyond the wall are vast fields, lush forests, and in the far distance she can see the city of Leyawiin. It's strange to think of a world beyond these walls; a world beyond Malrian's control. She was there in that world, once. But she was so young she scarcely remembers it.

A tendril of smoke rising up from behind the garden shed draws her attention away from the outside world. She watches as it snakes up into the air, and dissipates on an errant breeze. It's followed by another plume, thicker than the last, but it vanishes all the same.

It's Silvan, smoking his pipe before he begins his work for the day. The desire to speak with him is overwhelming, even though she knows she ought to leave him be. But she doesn't want to be alone right now, and she realizes she doesn't have to be. Not when the only friend she has in this wretched place is just a few feet away. All she has to do is sneak out of the house undetected, which shouldn't be difficult considering the early hour. Sneaking back in will be the problem. It wouldn't do to be seen by Aelfwynie in her current condition. The well-meaning Altmer would most likely make a fuss and further agitate Malrian. Which would only mean more pain and suffering for Lumen. Even though she doesn't think it could get much worse at this point.

With her mind made up, Lumen opens her bedroom door just enough to slip out. She tip-toes down the hallway, and down the stairs, taking care to walk close to the railing since the middle of the stairs tend to creak and groan. Then finally, _finally_ , she is outside, and it feels _wonderful_. She revels in the sensation of the dewy grass beneath her feet and the chill of the night still lingering in the air before the heat of the day burns it away.

Lumen holds her hands behind her back, not wanting Silvan to see her injury, and she steps behind the shed. "Good morning, Sil," she says, sounding infinitely happier than she feels.

Silvan starts, almost dropping his pipe when he turns to look at her. "Good gods-" he laughs in spite of himself. "I think my shadow makes more noise than you do."

"Did I frighten you?" she asks, amused by his reaction.

"Well, you didn't frighten me, but you certainly surprised me." He smiles. "It's a pleasant surprise, though. How are you?"

Lumen shrugs, not wanting to lie to Silvan, but not wanting to tell the truth either. "What's in your pipe?"

"Just a mixture of herbs," he says, his mouth quirking into a wry grin. "It's something I picked up from an apothecary shop in Leyawiin. It's supposed to help with the aches of mid-age, but I've not noticed any improvements."

"This may be a strange question, but would smoking herbs be an affront to Yiff-ree?" she asks, feeling a little stupid. She's only read about Y'ffre in books and she isn't certain how to properly pronounce his name.

Silvan laughs again. " _If_ -ree," he corrects. "These herbs are not from Valenwood, and the Green Pact doesn't extend to Cyrodiil. So, no." Silvan's brows knit together, but the smile never leaves his face. "You didn't come out here just to talk about religion, did you? I admit, I've never been one for it, so I am probably not the best source of information."

Lumen curls her toes into the wet grass, and lets her hands fall to her sides. "No, I didn't. I just, um- I just wanted to talk to you."

"Oh, Lu," Silvan sighs, taking in the sight of her wrapped hand. He puts his pipe down before stepping toward her and pulling her into an embrace. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," she says, her body going stiff when Silvan wraps his arms around her. She isn't unused to affection, but when it comes from Malrian it's almost always followed by pain, or manipulation. Genuine affection from someone who truly seems to care about her is strange and new, and just a little bit frightening. "It's not so bad. I've had worse."

"I'm sorry because I can't do anything about it," he says bitterly. Then, in a softer voice he says, "We could leave, you know."

"Where would we go?" she asks.

"I have a brother who lives in Skyrim. It's one of the few places in Tamriel that hasn't been completely overrun by the Dominion."

"Give them time," Lumen whispers. Leaving Cyrodiil behind seems like a hopeless venture. She doesn't have any gold to her name, and she has no idea how to live on her own. She can't even build a fire, or sew, or cook. And then there's Malrian, who would hunt her down to the ends of Nirn if she had the audacity to run away. "Won't we need money? I certainly don't have any."

"I have gold," he says. "You forget that I'm a hired servant. The Justiciar pays me fairly well, and I've been saving for a long time."

"I-" she wants to leave. She really does. "I need to think."

"What is there to think about?" he asks, one eyebrow lifted in disbelief. "This isn't a life you have here. We certainly won't be living in the lap of luxury in Skyrim but- _gods_ , Lu. At least you'd be free!"

Panic wells up inside of her. The thought of leaving is frightening, but so is the idea of staying. And she doesn't know what to do. "You know it's not possible," she says, taking a step away. "He would hunt us down, and he would find us."

"But you don't know that for certain."

"But I _do_ know it," she gasps. "He would kill you! _He would_! And he'd probably kill the both of us for even talking about this!"

Silvan's shoulders sag in defeat. "Lumen, please-"

"I- I have to go!" Lumen turns on her heel and runs away from Silvan, away from the promise of freedom and back to her gilded cage. She hates herself for it. But at least within the confines of her master's home, everything is familiar; the fear, the self-loathing, and the pain. A new life, a free life, a life where she might possibly be happy is unsettling. Such fantasies don't belong in the mind of a pet. Especially a pet who is paralyzed by the uncertainty of freedom.

A life of misery is no less than what she deserves.

* * *

"You complete, and utter _bastard_ -"

"Now, Elenwen, you know that's not true."

"Shut up, Malrian!" she snaps, her eyes alight with barely contained rage. "One more word and I swear to the Eight Divines, brother or not, I _will_ strangle you!"

Malrian wisely remains quiet as he watches his sister pace around his study. He's never seen Elenwen this angry before, and while there isn't much that frightens him, his older sister's wrath is something he'd like to avoid. Of course, avoiding it at this point seems impossible considering he's the primary cause of it, but it would be in his best interest not to add to it.

"I cannot believe you, Malrian. I really can't!" Elenwen folds her arms across her chest as she continues to pace. "First you insult Lady Ravienne, which is bad enough. But you just couldn't keep your mouth shut, could you? You had to go and frighten her, too!"

"Her behavior was offensive and inappropriate," he mutters, but the look Elenwen gives him culls his desire to continue arguing.

"You have a mate who is actually showing an interest in your desires and you're complaining?" she asks, utterly incredulous. "We all should be so lucky! Ancarion had been completely oblivious to how I was faring during our mating. It was so dull I almost fell asleep!"

Malrian pinches the bridge of his nose, not wishing to discuss sex with his eldest sister. "I don't want her to show an interest in me or my desires. She is not a mate I would choose for myself."

"You had decades to choose a mate and you never did!" Elenwen takes a breath to calm herself, and smoothes down her robes. "I know you claim to find the act of mating distasteful, but you're just going to have to suck it up and endure."

"It is more than distasteful. It's _disgusting_!" Malrian snaps.

"Well if you hate it so much, then I suggest that you hurry up and get it over with quickly rather than continuing the draw the process out. Stop avoiding it, and just do it, Malrian," Elenwen says. "But first you need to smooth things over with Ravienne. You owe her an apology, and it wouldn't be a bad idea to give her a gift as well."

Malrian heaves a long suffering sigh. "Fine," he grumbles, resisting the urge to complain further. He didn't get this far in his career without knowing when to retreat from a fight, and this mating fiasco is one battle he is not going to win. Not when Elenwen is his opponent.

"Just try to behave." Elenwen pats him on the arm. "And endure," she adds before slipping out of his study.

Malrian stares at the empty doorway. _"Endure,"_ he thinks, his lips curling into a sneer. He doesn't know how he'll manage to that, but he suspects an excessive amount of alcohol will be involved.

* * *

It's near midnight when Malrian fetches her, and Lumen knows he's coming before he ever reaches her door; his footsteps are as familiar to her as the beating of her own heart. A quiet tap on her door is her command to follow him. It's unknown whether he means to show her mercy or continue to punish her, and not knowing is worse than any amount of pain. But despite not knowing what fate awaits her, she obediently follows her master through the darkened corridors of his home.

When they reach his study, Malrian tilts his head in the direction of the divan, and then he turns away to fetch a crystal decanter from a small cabinet near his desk. Lumen kneels on the floor next to the divan, her right hand curling protectively around her injured one as she waits for her master. Her eyes are on the floor, but she listens carefully to his movements around the room; a clink of glass on glass, liquid being poured, which is followed by his soft footfalls, and finally the creak of leather as her master finally sits down.

"Up here," Malrian says, patting the cushion beside him.

Lumen moves to sit beside him without hesitation, despite her confusion. Malrian hasn't invited her to sit next to him, or on his level, in years. She's gotten so used to sitting on her knees on the floor, that it feels strange to sit in any other position. Her confusion grows when Malrian hands her a crystalline glass filled with a sweet smelling liquid. The liquid within having the appearance of molten gold, as the firelight from the sconces dance off the faucets in the glass.

"It's Sunhold brandy," he tells her. "I had it imported from Alinor." Malrian worms his fingers into Lumen's hair, drawing a shiver out of her. "You may drink it, pet," he says, and there is a slight drawl to his cultured voice, telling her that he's already consumed plenty of it this evening.

Lumen wets her lips and stares at the drink in her hands. Malrian has never offered her alcohol before, and if he weren't inebriated she would think this is just another one of his mind-games. But the eager look in his eyes tells her it's not, and he watches her, almost transfixed, as she brings the glass to her lips. The thick, honey-sweet liquid coats her tongue and sears a trail of heat down her throat and into the pit of her stomach. It seems to flow outward from there; to her fingers, toes, and even the tips of her ears, until her entire body is tingling with a pleasant warmth.

"Do you like it?"

"Yes," she says. An answer she would give whether it was true or not. But at least she does not have to lie to please him this time.

"Then drink it," he says, coaxing the glass back to her lips. "All of it."

Lumen does as he bids, drinking the rest of the brandy in a few swallows. With no food in her stomach, the alcohol goes straight to her head, and she's so wrapped up in a foggy daze that she hardly notices Malrian's fingers leaving her hair to take the glass from her hand.

"It's a bit strong, I know," he says, as he gently removes the makeshift bandage from her injured hand. "But it will help to dull the pain."

Malrian shows little emotion when the bandage finally falls away, revealing Lumen's mangled fingers. The swelling is worse than it was that morning, and the deep, purple bruise has extended all the way to her fingertips. He covers her hand with his, tugging slightly to shift the bones back into the proper position as the golden pulse of a healing spell slowly knits them together. It's impossible for her to hold in her cry of pain this time, and her master patiently hushes her, following the burst of healing magic with a cool, wisp of frost to ease some of her discomfort. But _finally_ , after a few excruciating minutes, her fingers are healed.

"Better?" he asks, holding her hand in his, the pad of his thumb rubbing circles along her palm.

"Much better," she gasps, and she is so overwhelmed she can feel tears welling up in her eyes. It's time like this, when her master is loving and kind, that make thoughts of leaving seem impossible. Though these moments are rare, Lumen finds herself reveling in his affection when he is of a mind to give it, and she hates herself for it.

"Do not cry, my girl. Your master has forgiven you," he says, tipping her chin up so he can see her face. Lumen knows he derives pleasure from her distress, a fact that brings forth more tears despite her best attempts to stem the flow. "I take no joy in causing you harm, but I have no choice but to reprimand you when you forget your place." Malrian sighs. "Perhaps Lothian was right. Perhaps I am a soft touch. I have never broken you completely. There is some part of you that I have never managed to tame, and I am not sure if I will... I'm not sure if I want to."

"I am sorry, master," she says, devoid of all emotion except for the rage clawing at the back of her mind. She doesn't know if it's directed toward Malrian, or toward herself. "I will try to do better."

"I know you will," he says, smiling at her as a proud father would smile at his child just taking their first steps. It would be nice, if it were real. "You always do, pet."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's rare for me to kick out a chapter so fast, but I had a burst of inspiration. So here you go! I know I promised to keep this a lighthearted fic but... I'm not sure if that is going to happen.


	5. Chapter 5

Malrian idly draws the pad of his finger across the rim of his teacup. This particular set of cups had been a gift from his mother; they are as blue as the Abecean Sea, with delicate, white vines adorning the upper rim. It is easy for Malrian to get lost in the whorls of leaves and petals that decorate the cup, and he likes having something simple to focus on considering his life is rather chaotic at the moment. It seems as if his sisters are working in unison to drive him completely insane, but at least Lumen has been obedient. His punishment, and then his subsequent reward of healing and drink had worked as he expected, and now his loyal pet is behaving perfectly.

"Did you hear a single word I just said?"

Elenwen's voice shatters the momentary peace Malrian had found within the intricate pattern upon his teacup. He sets the cup down with a sigh, and says, "I heard you, Elenwen." He casts a glance to his pet, who is currently sitting on a pillow near the window, pretending to read a book. Malrian can tell by the subtle twitch of her ears that she's paying more attention to their conversation than the words on the page. "But I don't see why I need to purchase a gift for Ravienne. I already apologized to her."

"You were drunk," Elenwen says, folding her arms, "and she was not impressed."

"I hardly remember..." Malrian's voice trails off, and he tries not to smile, because he knows it'll result in a lightning bolt up his backside. He does blearily remember stumbling to Ravienne's room after downing half a bottle of Sunhold brandy, and he's not quite sure what he said, but he knows it involved an 'I'm sorry' somewhere.

Elenwen locks him a withering glare. "'I'm sorry you're so desperate for my cock' is _not_ an apology!"

" _Hah!_ Ah, um- did I say that?" Malrian asks. He certainly doesn't remember saying anything so crass.

"I'm glad you think it's so funny," she says tersely. "Unfortunately Elaninde thought it was quite funny as well. As it is, Ravienne has locked herself in her bedroom and she's refusing to speak to either of you until you offer her a proper apology."

"And by a 'proper apology' you mean she expects me to spend an outrageous amount of gold on some useless bauble." He frowns at the thought. "I don't even know what she likes."

"Ask Elaninde, she will know," Elenwen says after taking a sip of her tea. "And I'll go with you to pick it out. You can't blame me for questioning your taste." At those words, she casts a very pointed look at Lumen.

Malrian chooses not to respond to her jibe. "Fine," he sighs. "There are a few shops in Leyawiin that have nice jewelry and that will have to do."

"You have been without proper female guidance for too long," Elenwen laughs. "The shops in the Imperial City are far superior to anything you have out here, dear brother. Why don't we make a little trip? It will only take a few days, and it would be nice to get everyone out of the house for a while."

"I don't know if my pet is ready to visit such a large city," he admits. "I've never taken her to Leyawiin. I'm sure you've noticed that she tends to get a little over stimulated in large crowds."

"So lock her up in the cellar," Elenwen sniffs. "She'll survive."

A frantic knocking on the door interrupts their conversation, and seconds later Aelfwynie is bustling into the room, waving a piece of parchment around. "Elenwen! A missive just came and I have great news! Ancarion and your sons are coming to visit! They'll be here tomorrow! Isn't that wonderful?"

"Ah..." It's a rare moment when his sister is at a loss for words, but news of a visit from her mate and sons seems to have done just that. Elenwen quickly recovers, though, and says, "That is wonderful news. Lillandril and Calen are so very fond of their Uncle Malrian, as you know."

"Oh, I know they are!" Aelfwynie giggles, turning to Malrian. "You should hear those two go on about you! It's like they think you're Auri-El himself sometimes!"

"That's- um, very flattering," Malrian says uncertainly. He's never been particularly kind to his nephews. Every time he's been forced to endure their company he spends a large amount of his time ignoring them, avoiding them, or begrudgingly indulging them just so they'll leave him alone for a few blessed minutes.

"And I haven't seen Ancarion in so long," Aelfwynie goes on, looking wistful. "He's so very handsome! I don't know how you can stand to be apart from him so often. It must be difficult to-" Aelfwynie giggles, " _resist_ him when he's around."

"I'm not sure how I can keep my hands off of him. But somehow I manage it," Elenwen says flatly.

Aelfwynie is beside herself with glee. She's always been family-oriented, which is a good thing, really. He and Elenwen are more focused on their careers, while Elaninde is more focused on herself. So it's good, if a bit annoying, that they have Aelfwynie to bring them all together. "I think we should have another party. Something small, perhaps, nothing fancy like the last one we had." She looks to Malrian, her bright eyes full of hope. "What do you think?"

"No-"

"That's a spectacular idea," Elenwen says forcefully. "Why don't you get to work on that, dear?"

With permission given, Aelfwynie leaves the room in a flurry of tulle and excitement, and Elenwen heaves a defeated sigh.

"I do not mind a visit from my nephews, but does that fool Ancarion have to come with them?" Malrian asks.

"He is their father," Elenwen says weakly. "And you know as well as I do that Calen is not of age, and Lillandril is a- well, a late bloomer."

"Ancarion is _worthless_." Malrian folds his arms, not bothering to hide his disgust with the mate that was chosen for his sister. "He is the most ineffective Justiciar in all Tamriel. I'm surprised he was able to provide you with two sons."

Elenwen waves her hand in the air. "Stop," she says. It's not the first time Malrian has voiced his dislike of Elenwen's mate, and it won't be the last. But for now he will allow his sister a little reprieve and keep his thoughts to himself.

"Pet." Malrian snaps his fingers, getting Lumen's attention. "Bring us some wine," he orders, watching his pet with no small amount of satisfaction as she obediently walks to his liquor cabinet, and then stops, waiting for further instruction. "The Frostdew Blanc, I think- unless my sister would prefer a red rather than a white."

"White is fine," she says. "I know this is just going to go in one ear and out the other, but do me a favor and mind your tongue around Ancarion."

"I always do!" Malrian protests, feeling rather insulted. He sulks quietly for a moment before saying, "I hope you don't expect me to waste any of my good vintages on him. He wouldn't know wine from vinegar."

"Oh, for Mara's sake! He's not that bad, Malrian!" Elenwen snaps, accepting a glass of wine from Lumen when she offers it to her.

Malrian ignores his sister as he takes a glass of wine from Lumen. "Thank you, my pet. You may return to your book now." He smiles at Lumen when she bows and returns to her spot by the window, but the sight of his own pet has him wondering. "Tell me, will Ancarion and your sons be bringing their pets with them?"

Elenwen sips her wine, savoring the flavor of the drink before answering her brother. "Ancarion never cared for pets, but my sons both have housecats. They have been begging for pets for the past twenty years, and I thought they ought to start off with something simple." She looks at him, her tone accusing when she says, "They each want a Bosmer because of your ridiculous obsession with the fat, ugly creatures."

"Funny that you insult my choice of pet when I distinctly recall you owning an ugly, hairy Nord," Malrian drawls. "And if memory serves, he got rather fat while in your care."

"He was perfectly healthy," Elenwen sniffs, primly crossing her legs and lifting her chin. "At least he wasn't overfed like that portly thing sitting by the window."

Malrian glances at Lumen, and if she's insulted by Elenwen's words, she doesn't show it. " _Good girl,"_ he thinks. He's already told the girl that he likes her as she is, and not to worry when his sisters make catty comments. Lumen is hardly portly, anyway. It's true she carries a little more weight than most elven females, but that's due to a life of luxury and nothing more.

The two siblings fall silent as they drink their wine; Elenwen looking smug because she thinks she won the argument, and Malrian forcing himself to mind his tongue. He could say so much more about Elenwen's old pet, but he knows he'd be trudging into _very_ dangerous territory if he did. And he'd rather not provoke his sister anymore than he already has.

* * *

It is early morning, and the summer rains have come to Cyrodiil. The thick, fluffy clouds that had been building up over the past few days have burst into a million tiny raindrops, the cool water chasing the stagnant, late-summer mugginess from the air. The gentle hum of rain against the roof of Malrian's home is relaxing, as is the feeling of her master's fingers running through her hair, and Lumen struggles to hold back a yawn.

"Are you tired, my pet?" Malrian asks, as he carefully braids her hair. Which is a job for the servants, but Malrian hates the thought of anyone else laying their hands on his property.

"Forgive me, Master," she says, wondering if she should keep a tally of all the things she apologizes for when she has no reason to. She could make a game of it. "But I think the rain is getting to me."

"These early mornings are getting to _me_. Once my sister's are gone we can return to rising late in the day." Malrian finishes her braid, and after carefully tying a bow around the end, he drapes the long plait across her shoulder. "Turn around and let me look at you."

Lumen does as he bids, smoothing the skirt of her green dress as she does so. The dress falls past her knees, and the collar slopes just beneath her neck. It's more modest than how he usually dresses her in the summer, but perhaps her Master has chosen to be a little more careful in how he presents his pet after what happened with Lothian. Oh, by the Eight, what if Elenwen's sons are just as depraved?

Her fear must have shown on her face, because her master asks, "What is it, pet?"

"Mistress Elenwen's sons- are they-" she hesitates, not knowing how to ask without the question possibly being misconstrued as disrespectful. "Are they nice?"

Malrian laughs softly. "They are decent, I suppose, if a bit simple. They are very young. The eldest, Lillandril, is barely in his sixties. Calen is, ah- forty-something and not yet of age by Altmer standards."

Lumen knows Altmer are longer-lived than Bosmer, and therefore slower to age, but it is still strange to think about. "The youngest son is twenty years older than me, and he's still not considered an adult?" she asks, unable to curb her curiosity.

"Altmer age differently than Bosmer," Malrian explains. "Bosmer come of age at twenty, but Altmer are not considered adults until age fifty, and that is only physical maturity. Mental maturity comes much later for some, and my nephews are no exception to that."

Lumen nods. "I think I understand now," she says. "Thank you."

"You are welcome, my dear. Oh, and before I forget-" Quick as lightning, Malrian reaches out and grabs her neck. He pulls her close to him, digging his nails into the tender flesh of her nape. "You will reign in your violent tendencies while they are here, do you understand? If I see one scratch on those boys, believe me, you _will_ regret it," he snarls.

"Yes," she gasps, her eyes watering from the pain. "I understand."

He shoves her away from him. "Come, my girl, our guests will be arriving soon," Malrian says, his voice soft and smooth, as if the warning never even happened.

Malrian steps into the hallway, and Lumen falls into place behind him. They make their way down the second floor corridor, as they have done for the past ten years. Very little about the mansion has changed in that time. The curtains and the rugs are changed every couple of years, the color fully dependant on Malrian's whims. When Lumen first arrived they were a dark red, then green, and for the past two years they have been a deep, midnight blue. The paintings on the walls are the same as always; framed, meaningless landscapes and portraits of bored Thalmor nobility.

They descend the wide staircase to wait for their guests in the foyer. Malrian's sisters are already gathered there. Aelfwynie is bouncing on the balls of her feet and chattering away at Elenwen, who looks as indifferent as ever. Elaninde looks like she'd rather still be in bed as she stands with her arm looped with Ravienne's. Lady Ravienne throws a venomous glare Malrian's way before turning back to Elaninde and whispering something in her ear. Lumen cannot hear what is said, but they both laugh before turning to grin at _her_.

Not good. Not good at all. But Lumen has no time to worry about what the two scheming women might be up to, because the steward announces the arrival of their esteemed guests, and within a matter of moments the foyer erupts in a flurry of greetings.

A middle-aged Altmer steps in first, saying hello to the group as a whole before greeting Elenwen with more warmth than Lumen would expect of a Thalmor. "Elenwen, it's been too long, dear. You look lovely, as always," he says, taking her hands in his.

"Ancarion," she says, as she demurely pulls her hands from his grip. "A visit from you is always a pleasure. You are looking well."

Lumen cautiously peers around her master, watching the family with interest. Ancarion moves away from Elenwen to greet the rest of the group individually, and a younger male approaches Elenwen next. He appears to be even younger than Lumen, and if Malrian hadn't explained Altmer aging to her, she would assume his age to be around eighteen. He is carrying a strange, wrinkly animal in his arms, a housecat to be sure, but Lumen has never seen one with such large eyes and ears, and without any hair!

"Calen, it's good to see you, dear. And I see you brought your little pet," Elenwen says, and the smile she has for her son falters at the sight of the animal in his arms.

"I couldn't just leave Bianca at home, Mother," Calen says. "She would miss me. Besides, I wanted to show her to Uncle Malrian."

"I am sure he will be thrilled."

Lumen has her doubts about that. Malrian hates animals. _Filthy creatures_ , he calls them. She has seen him use well-aimed lightning bolts to blast birds from the roof of his house and squirrels out of his trees. He's not going to cope well with two cats in his house.

A second Altmer steps up beside Calen and greets Elenwen. This must be Lillandril. He looks like he's a few years older than Lumen, his features more mature and refined than his younger brothers. His cat is wearing a harness and is tethered to him by a leash. It's refusing to walk properly, and it lays on the ground as Lillandril drags it along behind him, its tail flicking in irritation.

Elenwen politely shoos her sons away, telling them to greet the rest of the family, and that is when Lillandril and Calen both converge on Malrian.

"Uncle Malrian, look!" Lillandril picks up the listless cat he's been dragging along behind him. "I brought Tallulah to visit you."

"And I brought Bianca," Calen says. "Isn't she wonderful?"

Malrian recoils as the two brothers hold their cats out to him. "I do hope they are trained. I will not hesitate to set the disgusting things on fire if they soil my carpet," he warns, and even though Lumen cannot see his face, she knows his lip is curling in disgust at the thought of two animals inside his home.

"We've worked very hard to train them," Lillandril says. "Mother said if we did well with our cats, we could have our very own Bosmer someday!"

"I said _maybe_ ," Elenwen corrects, before turning back to a conversation with Ancarion and Aelfwynie.

"Oooh... You got a _new_ one," Calen breathes, his eyes wide as he stares at Lumen.

Lillandril's face lights up when he catches sight of Lumen. "Oh, you did! May we play with her Uncle Malrian? Please?"

"Pleeeease?"

"No. I don't think so," Malrian says. "My pet is not good with children. She bites."

Lumen suppresses the urge to laugh. She's never bitten anyone in her entire life! But she has no desire to 'play' with Lillandril and Calen, either. They're hardly what she would consider children, and the Eight only know what they have planned for her. It's likely as lewd as what Lothian had in mind. With the exception of Malrian, it seems like all male Altmer are sexual deviants. How come they couldn't just pleasure themselves, rather than taking their base urges out on the unwilling?

"We'll be good! We promise!" Lillandril pleads.

Calen nods enthusiastically. "We'll be so good! We won't be mean to her at all!"

"I said no," Malrian says smoothly, and then motions for his steward to step closer as he addresses his newly arrived guests. "Please follow my steward to your rooms. Get settled in and wash up, we'll be having brunch soon." He pauses, glancing at the two cats. "And um, please leave those- _things_ in your room. I'd rather not have them near me while I eat."

The two brothers stare longingly at Lumen as the steward leads them away. Ancarion follows along behind them, laughing and apologizing to Malrian for his son's behavior, claiming they are just 'hyperactive' after such a long journey.

Malrian breathes an irritated sigh, then address his sisters and Ravienne. "Ladies. If you'll follow me," he says, turning on his heel and leading the group down a hallway. Lumen waits until they all pass her before following along behind them. "I had hoped to dine in the gardens, but the rain came sooner than I expected. So we'll be dining in the solarium today."

The solarium is a large, circular room at the back of the house. There are windows on all sides, and even the roof is made of glass panes. The perimeter of the room is lined with potted plants of various sizes, a few candelabras, and in the middle a white, wrought iron dining table has been set for the family. Food has already been placed on the table; bowls of fresh fruit, plates of tiny sandwiches, and a tray lined with crackers, smoked fish, and a variety of cheeses. The only servants in the room are the two standing on either end of the table; one with a pitcher of water and the other with a bottle of champagne.

Lumen's stomach growls at the sight of the food she will not be allowed to eat, with the exception of the occasional 'treat' given to her by her master. When it is just the two of them, the servants will bring trays of food to Malrian's study, and Lumen often eats the same meals as he does. But when he has guests she is to sit on the floor beside her master and be hand fed like a dog in order to show her obedience.

Once Ancarion and his sons enter the solarium, the family takes their seats at the table. Elenwen sits at the head of the table, while Malrian sits at the other end, with Lumen kneeling on the floor beside him. And when the sounds of idle, pointless conversations and the clink of silverware upon porcelain fill the room, Lumen allows her mind to wander. She has no interest in the gossip being passed around the table, and she is almost lost in the throes of a rather enthralling daydream when she is pulled back to reality by the sound of Ravienne's voice.

"I can't believe you let that _thing_ sit at the table," she snaps. "Could you send it away before I lose my appetite? The sight of that poor creature makes me sick."

Ravienne had not shown any animosity towards Lumen previously, and she can only assume the woman is doing this to annoy Malrian. And it's working. Malrian sneers at Ravienne, but he holds back whatever acerbic remark he has for her. Instead, he lightly touches Lumen's shoulder and says, "Leave."

She is on her feet and out of the room within a matter of seconds, grateful to have a few moments to herself and away from Malrian's wretched family. Her feet seem to move of their own volition, and she doesn't stop until she steps out onto the veranda. The late morning air is filled with the calming scents and sounds of a summer rain; the hiss of water as it lands on leaves and blossoms, and the slow rumble of thunder in the distance. Lumen stretches, arching her back and pushing herself to the tips of her toes in order to relieve some of the tension that has settled into her muscles. She can feel herself beginning to relax, but her momentary peace comes to a screeching halt when the patio door opens behind her, and she turns to see Elenwen's sons sneaking out onto the veranda.

"Lillandril," Calen hisses. "Malrian told us we couldn't play with her. He'll be angry if he finds out!"

"I know what he said, dummy," Lillandril says. "But I've never been this close to a Bosmer before and I am not going to waste the opportunity."

Calen frowns at his brother as he lingers by the door, seemingly torn between satisfying his curiosity or obeying his uncle. After a few second he breaks eye contact with his older brother and shuts the door. "Fine," he mutters. "But Father told us not to annoy uncle Malrian because he has a terrible temper, and-"

Lillandril flaps his hand in the air. "Father also said Malrian is all bark and no bite."

"Trust me, his bite is much worse than his bark will ever be," Lumen says, unable to keep quiet any longer.

Lillandril gasps, grabbing his brother's arm and giving it a shake. "Oh my Divines! She _talked_ to me!"

"Of course she did, numbskull!" Calen yanks his arm out of his brother's grip. "She's a Bosmer, not a cat. They aren't mute!"

"I know that. But Mother said they were unintelligent, tree-dwellers and wouldn't make a suitable pet. So I just assumed..." Lillandril decides not to continue with that particular line of thought. He turns from his brother and takes a tentative step toward Lumen. "Hello, there. Do you- do you really bite?"

"I might, if I were so inclined," she says, sizing the two males up. "So keep your distance."

Calen holds his hands up and has the good grace to look contrite. "We're not going to hurt you, honest. It's just- well, these family gatherings can get pretty boring and we wondered if you might entertain us?"

Lumen narrows her eyes. "Entertain you how?" she asks, not bothering to hide the suspicion in her voice.

The brothers glance at each other, and Lillandril says, "We heard there was an Ayleid ruin close by, and we were wondering if you'd show us the way? Surely you know where it is? We've always wanted to see one."

She hadn't been expecting that, and it takes her a moment to collect her thoughts. "I'm not allowed to leave my Master's property," she admits. "But there is a ruin nearby. It's called Ceysel."

"Have you ever been there?" Calen asks, grinning. "Just because you're not allowed to leave the property doesn't mean you haven't."

"No. I've never been there," she tells him. Which is a lie, but he doesn't need to know that. She was there ages ago. When she still went by her birth name. When her mother was still alive.

When Malrian was kind.

_Oh gods. What has she done? Mama told her not to stray from the property, and she explicitly told her not to go near Ceysel. But here she is, stranded in the dank, dark ruin of a long lost race. She was only a few feet in when an errant gust of wind blew her lantern out, and it's pitch black, and cold, and she swears she can hear something in the distance. A ghost? A monster? A bandit? She doesn't know, but she doesn't want to find out either._

_She presses her back into a corner, and pulls her knees to her chest, making herself as small as she possibly can in hopes that whatever creatures dwell here will not see her. Lumen rests her forehead against her knees, her skirt growing wet from her tears. It's difficult not to be afraid. Her eighth birthday was only a few days ago, and she can't help but fear that it might be the last birthday she ever has. What is no one finds her? What if she dies in this ruin because she can't find her way out?_

_The heavy scrape of stone upon stone grabs her attention, and can hear voices in the distance. One in particular that grows closer, along with the bright flare of a magelight spell._

" _Lulawen? Are you in here?" Malrian's voice calls out, echoing against the damp stone. "It's all right. You aren't in trouble!"_

" _Malrian! I'm- I'm here!" she yells. "Please hurry! I'm scared!"_

_He rounds the corner, the glowing orb of magelight following along behind him, and his shoulders sag in relief when he sees her. "Thank the Eight- your mother is worried sick," he says, as he kneels down beside her. "Are you hurt?"_

" _No. I'm not hurt," she says, wiping her eyes. "Please don't tell Mama I was here… she'll be so angry."_

_After a moment, he says, "I won't." Malrian reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind Lumen's ear. "It'll be our little secret."_

" _Thank you." She chances a smile. "I was just so curious. I wanted to see where the ancient elves once lived."_

_Malrian looks away from her, glancing toward a darkened corridor that leads deeper into the ruin. "Would you like to go further in?" he asks, turning back to her._

" _Is it safe?" she asks meekly._

" _Of course it's safe. You're with me," he laughs. "I wouldn't let anything happen to you."_

" _Okay," she breathes, slipping her little hand in his._

_He leads her into the main chamber of the ruin where the Welkynd Stones still glow. The room is an eerie, undersea green, but it's beautiful. More beautiful than she ever imagined it would be, and Lumen listens in rapt attention as Malrian tells her what he knows of Ceysel, and the mer that once dwelled within._

"Well can you show us where it is?" Calen asks, his voice cutting through Lumen's reverie.

She shakes her head. "It wouldn't do you any good. Master sealed it years ago to keep the vagabonds out."

"Damn," Calen grumbles. "Now what? I don't want to have to listen to everyone talk politics. It's so boring."

Lillandril, who has been staring at her for a while now, finally speaks. "May I- May I touch your ears?"

"What? Why?" Lumen asks.

"I don't know why," he admits. "I just- please? May I?"

"Lillandril. That's quite rude, you know." Calen folds his arms, and while his demeanor would suggest he's annoyed with his brother, he is watching Lumen very curiously as well.

Lumen shrugs. "I suppose I don't see the harm…"

The words are barely out of her mouth when the two males close in on her, their fingers curiously running along the edges of her ears. Ears she never knew were quite so sensitive until they were being fondled by two pairs of very curious hands. She clenches her jaw, overwhelmed by both the attention and the invasion of her personal space.

Lumen doesn't know how much more of this she can take.

* * *

"Um, Elenwen. I don't mean to interrupt but-"

"What is it, Aelfwynie?"

"Well, it's just that your boys have chased Lumen up a tree." Aelfwynie had been knitting a sweater for Bianca, but her project has been momentarily abandoned so she can watch the commotion outside.

"What?" Malrian sputters. Damn it. He told those two simpletons to stay away from his pet! Not so much for Lumen's safety, but for their own.

Elenwen laughs. "Oh, my. A Bosmer in a tree. Will wonders ever cease?"

"Will you please control your brats?" Malrian growls, as he steps over to the window to see Calen and Lillandril staring up at Lumen as she perches on a branch just beyond their reach.

Ancarion is the first to rise, and Elenwen sighs, pushing away from her seat on the divan and following him outside to corral their children. Aelfwynie returns to her knitting, while Malrian, Elaninde and Ravienne stare outside.

"Oh, don't look so upset, Malrian," Elaninde says, patting him on the arm. "They mean no harm."

Malrian ignores his sister as he watches as Elenwen and Ancarion lead the boys away from the tree, and once they are out of sight, Lumen begins her precarious descent down the branches. He considers going outside and helping his pet down, as he has no desire to spend time healing a broken ankle, but the sight of the groundskeeper approaching the tree stops him. Ah, good. Perhaps he will bring Lumen a ladder so she can safely reach the ground.

"Ooh, now it's officially getting interesting," Ravienne purrs.

"What are you babbling about?" Malrian asks, making no effort to hide his contempt. But there is no need for Ravienne to clarify as Lumen dangles from the lowest branch, and the groundskeeper grips her waist, guiding her gently to the ground. "There's nothing interesting about- oh, what's his name- _Silvan_ helping my pet out of a tree."

"No?" she asks. "I bet he'd like to help her out of that dress as well."

"My pet is loyal and proper. She would never…" Malrian loses the will to argue when he sees his pet step a little too close to Silvan, her hand resting on his chest as she offers him a coy smile. She says something to him, though he has no idea what. But it doesn't matter. The bitter, jealous rage pulsing inside him is all he can focus on. The groundskeeper has yet to remove his hands from his pet's waist- and that smile she's giving him- that same smile she gives to Malrian when he's done something kind for her. That smile he _revels in_ has been given away to another.

"Oh, dear..." Ravienne's blood red lips curl into a vicious grin. "You mean you never noticed your pet's fascination with the hired help before?"

Malrian doesn't answer her, because he knows his carefully schooled mask of indifference is slipping. But he is hard pressed to care. He can't. Not when his pet is giving away what isn't hers, and not when the groundskeeper continues to touch what is _his_.

"Don't take it personally, brother," Elaninde says. "Even rats in a cage are liable to stray."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ceysel means 'Hall of Shadow' in Ayleidoon. Lillandril and Calen are Heiwako's creation, and can be seen in her Season Unending fanfiction. :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: sexual content. Nothing graphic, but I have increased the rating from T to M just to be safe.

Malrian stands near his bedchamber window and watches a storm rage across the countryside. It often rains in the southern parts of Cyrodiil during the summer months, but rarely did he ever see it storm like this. He relishes the sight of the rain and hail bending to the will of the winds. Even better is the lightning that skitters through the clouds before it explodes toward the ground. The resulting thunder is loud enough to rattle the windowpanes, as well as his pet.

The Bosmer has harbored an absurd fear of thunderstorms ever since she was a child. Malrian has tried to help her overcome her fear. He even locked her outside in the middle of a storm in hopes that exposing her to her fear would help her get over it. Unfortunately, that particular course of action made her fear much more pronounced. So, Malrian has no choice but to mollycoddle the foolish girl whenever the sky so much as rumbles.

Granted, coddling her is the last thing he wants to do right now. He's yet to take any action against Lumen or Silvan, and as far as he knows, she has no idea that he's aware of her little infatuation with the groundskeeper. They've gone through this before when he caught her with a farmhand that used to bring deliveries to the estate. Malrian had acted violently and rashly, but clearly that is not the way to deal with Lumen in this particular scenario. So he's going to bide his time and think of how to best punish her, how to best _show her_ that her life is not her own, and she has no business engaging in sordid affairs with the help. And she definitely has no business seeking companionship when _he_ is all she needs.

He glances at his pet, who is sitting beside his bed, her knees pulled up to her chest and her hands covering her ears. He considers saying something to her. Maybe explaining the science of thunder and lightning to her _again_ in a vain attempt to ease her fears, but a soft knock on his bedroom door diverts his attention.

Malrian grits his teeth in irritation when he opens the door to find Ancarion on the other side. "What do you want, Ancarion? It's rather late." His voice is clipped, and he doesn't bother with niceties since his sister is not here to nag him.

"May I come in?" he asks, his eyes skimming across Malrian's bedchambers; a large oak paneled room, complete with fine, red carpet, a large fireplace, and a private bathing chamber. "I wanted to talk."

Malrian steps aside, allowing his fellow Justiciar in. "I don't expect you and I have much to discuss."

"You think not?" he asks blithely, looking Malrian over with a grin on his lips. "I've never seen you without your Thalmor robes on. You're not as intimidating without them."

"Is that what you wanted to talk about?" Malrian asks. "My bedclothes?" While his loose, knit trousers and overshirt are hardly the stuff of nightmares, he could still fry Ancarion to a crisp if his sister wouldn't kill him for it.

Ancarion laughs softly. "No, it's not. I want to talk about the contract I had with Elenwen. I have been trying to convince her to enter a new contract with me so that we may produce more heirs, but she has turned dodging the subject into an art."

"Only because she is too polite to outright refuse you," Malrian says.

"Indeed," he says, still smiling as if Elenwen's refusal doesn't bother him. "But I am still invested in this family. I have grown to care for all of you and I would hate to be no longer a part of it once Calen is finally of age."

Malrian suppresses a snort at that. The only thing Ancarion is invested in is monetary gain and enhancing his social status, and without a renewed breeding contract, and certainly without a marriage agreement, he'll be cut off from the family's money once Calen is an adult. "So why come to me about this?" he asks, truly confused at this point. "I have no authority over my sister. You know that."

"Aelfwynie told me that you are- oh, how shall I put it? _Reluctant_ to mate with Lady Ravienne. She thinks you are just shy, but I think it's something else entirely."

"This ought to be good," he muses. "What exactly do you think my reasons are?"

Ancarion moves forward and pushes Malrian against the bedroom wall. "I think someone of the male persuasion is more your type," he purrs, shoving his thigh between Malrian's legs and sliding his hands beneath his shirt. "Am I right?"

Ah, of course. If Ancarion can't renew his contract with Elenwen, he'll happily be the lover of her little brother if it means the gold will continue to flow his way. If the situation wasn't so ludicrous, Malrian would be offended at being Ancarion's last, and only choice. Aelfwynie is happily married with an army of children, and Elaninde doesn't have the same social standing as Malrian. Not to mention… most men were frightened of her. And while he appreciates the aesthetic beauty of both men and women, he desires neither, and he most certainly does not need a lover. His sexual needs are practically non-existent, and he has Lumen for company. More importantly, if he were to choose a lover, it definitely would not be this witless fool of a Thalmor.

"Ancarion," Malrian begins, trying to keep his voice steady because, like it or not, he is dealing with a colleague. "I-" his breath hitches when he realizes the pressure that has been steadily growing against his thigh is not a poorly-placed dagger (which he had been hoping for) but evidence of Ancarion's desire. Oh, by the Eight. It's bad enough that he's expected to lie back and let Ravienne debase him, now he has Ancarion grinding up against his leg. Why is it so hard for everyone to grasp the fact that he is just not interested in sex? The end result is well and good, but if he's ever that desperate for release he is fully able to achieve on his own, and _without_ someone grunting and sweating all over him.

"I _knew_ it," Ancarion breathes, sounding as self-satisfied as ever. "Why don't you dismiss your pet? I don't mind an audience, but the poor thing looks a little uncomfortable."

 _His pet_. Oh, gods. This is the last thing he wanted her to see. Yet there she is, standing slack-jawed and helpless on the other side of the room, torn between action and inaction. Malrian places his hand upon Ancarion's chest and pushes him away. It truly takes all of his willpower not to send a bolt of electricity right through his heart, but unfortunately, Ancarion would be missed if he were to suddenly vanish.

"No, Ancarion," Malrian says, not caring that his voice is shaking with rage. "You need to leave."

"But-"

" _Leave_ ," Malrian growls, and Ancarion scowls at him. But he leaves the room, shutting the door quietly behind him.

"Master," Lumen says, chancing a step closer, but keeping a distance of many feet between them. Which is wise of her, really. "Are you all right?"

"Yes. I'm fine," he says stiffly. Gods, that was entirely too close. What is wrong with his family and the mer they associate with? Is there something in the water making everyone want to rut like wild animals? Why would they want to? All that noise. The moaning, and the heavy breathing, and the sweating and all that _work._ Not to mention the disgusting sensation of having someone else's bodily fluids on him. Why would anyone in their right mind want to bother with that mess? He shudders, and he wills his mind to _shut up_ before he makes himself physically ill. "Oh, by all the gods…"

"Is there anything I can do to help?" Lumen asks.

"Yes," he gasps. "Go fetch the servants. Get them to bring some hot water up here. Boiling hot. I need- I need a bath."

* * *

"Master," Lumen says, knocking on the door to his bathing chamber. "May I come in? I have some ice water for you."

Lumen has seen her master angry. But she's never seen him so- well- she doesn't know _what_ to call this. She's certainly never known him to sit in a bath for hours, periodically calling upon a fire spell to reheat the water to scalding temperatures, and she's worried he may overheat and die. What would happen to her if he died? Which one of his sick, twisted family members would she be willed to? She honestly does not want to find out.

When she doesn't hear a response from her master, she says, "I'm- I'm coming in! So- um-" she pushes the door open, one hand holding a glass of water and the other clamped firmly over her eyes. She peers between her fingers, and upon seeing her master still in the bathtub, she drops her hand away from her face. Only Malrian's scowling face and the tops of his knees are visible, and thankfully the bathwater is an opaque, milky white from all the various soaps he's used, giving him a modicum of privacy.

"Master, please," Lumen pleads as she cautiously approaches the bathtub. She kneels beside it and offers the water to Malrian. "If you're going to be in a hot bath for so long, you really must drink some water."

Malrian sighs, pushing himself into a more upright position, his shoulders now emerging from the hot water as he leans his head back against the curved rim of the copper bathtub. His golden skin is blushed pink from the heat of the water, and from all the vicious scrubbing he's done. Finally his gaze turns to Lumen. "I _must_ drink some water?" he asks. "Are you giving the orders now, pet?"

Despite the thick, muggy air hanging in the room and fogging the windows, a chill runs down Lumen's spine at the anger threading in her master's calm voice. "Forgive me," she pleads. "I am only worried about you."

"There's nothing to worry about. I'm not going to drown myself in the bathtub just because that simpleton molested me," Malrian says, but he does take the glass of water she's offering him.

"I was more concerned about you overheating," she admits. "N-not that I think you would ever be so careless but-" a flash of lightning startles her, and the clap of thunder that follows it has her shaking all over again.

"Get out," Malrian snaps, flapping his hand in the air, and sending little flecks of hot water flying. "I don't have the patience to deal with your ridiculous fears right now."

"Y-yes, Master," Lumen gasps, cringing at both his words and the racket of the storm outside, and she leaves the bathing chamber as quickly as her feet will allow.

* * *

He does think it's rather sweet that Lumen is so concerned for his well-being, and normally Malrian would allow himself to enjoy her attentions. But he can't right now. Not when he knows that she's been focusing some of her attention on the groundskeeper. Perhaps he should just allow his pet to do whatever lurid acts she wants to do with the man. Maybe then she'd come to her senses when she finds out how disappointing and disgusting sex can be. Of course, he'd have to kill Silvan afterwards. Which would be a waste of a perfectly good groundskeeper, but it would be a good lesson for Lumen to learn. Because she still doesn't seem to comprehend that she is given what she needs because her master wills it, and he can take it all away at any time.

And yet… He can't ignore the jealous rage forming in the pit of his gut. He cannot stand the thought of anyone touching his beloved pet and _defiling_ her. _She is his_. And if he wishes for her to remain untouched, then that's damn well how she will stay!

With a sigh, Malrian steps out of the bathtub. As much as it galls him to do so, he might need to consult with Elenwen about this. She's owned pets before, and perhaps she'll have some advice. Once dried and dressed Malrian leaves the muggy heat of the bathing chamber behind, stepping out into the relative cool of his bedroom. His pet is kneeling on the floor beside his bed, her shoulders hunched, and shivering at every rumble of thunder and flash of lightning.

"Really, pet," he says, walking past her and perching on the edge of his bed. "It's just light and noise. There's nothing to fear."

"I know, master," she says weakly. "I'm sorry. I don't know why it scares me. It just does."

Malrian wants to be angry with her. He so dearly wants to be, but… his gut twists, and he is assaulted by some unidentifiable emotion whenever he sees his poor pet so afraid. Perhaps, for now, he can ignore his need to distance himself from her. There's no reason to punish _himself_ for her indiscretions, is there?

"Up here, pet," he says, patting his bed.

She looks up at him suspiciously, probably wondering if this is some kind of trick. He isn't surprised by that reaction given her guilty conscience, but eventually she sits on the bed next to him, shifting awkwardly. Malrian grabs her by the shoulder and guides her closer to him, eventually wrapping his arm around her and holding her tight. Her body stiffens. Both he and Lumen are unused to displays of honest, open affection. But eventually she relaxes in his arms. Her body growing more limp with each stroke of his fingers through her hair.

"There, now," he says soothingly, and rests his chin on the top of her head. "You have nothing to fear, dear girl. You're with me and no harm will come to you." No harm that he doesn't administer, at any rate. But that goes without saying.

Lumen's arms curl around him, and he doesn't know why he feels so satisfied when his pet clings to him, but he does. "Thank you, master," she murmurs.

* * *

Malrian's been acting so strange lately. Granted, he's been acting strange ever since his sisters arrived for the summer. But he's never invited Lumen onto his bed. Not once. Nor has he ever offered her more affection than a pat on the head or a very short-lived embrace. And yet, he's spent a good eight hours with his arms wrapped around her. He practically clings to her as he sleeps, as if he's afraid she'll somehow vanish into the night. As much as she hates to admit it, and she really does, it is nice to be given so much affection. How long has she wanted to feel needed and loved? She knows it's a farce. She knows his kindness will soon be followed by cruelty, but it is hard for her not to enjoy it while it lasts.

It's late in the morning, and sunlight has been streaming through the cracks in the curtains for many hours now, warming the room. Between the sunlight and Malrian's body heat, Lumen is uncomfortably warm. She's managed to kick the covers from her legs, but there is little she can do about the source of heat pressed against her back. If she tries to unwind herself from her master's arms, she'll probably wake him.

There is a soft knock on his bedroom door. "Malrian? Are you well?" calls Elenwen's muffled voice. "It's nearly noon!"

Lumen tenses. Oh gods, if Elenwen were to walk in and see them like this, Malrian would never hear the end of it and Lumen would probably be on the receiving end of a few destruction spells. "Master," she whispers, hoping to rouse him. "Master, please wake up!"

Malrian groans sleepily, his arms tightening around her as he buries his face in the back of her neck. His hot breath tickling the nape of her neck has Lumen feeling distinctly uncomfortable. He is _too close_ and she needs to get away.

The door creaks open, and Elenwen gasps. "I knew it!" she shouts. "I damn well knew it!"

 _That_ gets Malrian's attention, and he sits up, blinking blearily in the late morning light. His gaze turns from his sister, to Lumen, then back again. "Can I not have a little privacy in my own home, Elenwen?" he asks, trying to sound furious but failing when his words end in a yawn.

"If you ask me, you've had entirely too much privacy!" Elenwen snaps. "You are supposed to be propagating our bloodline with Ravienne! Not spending your seed on this lesser creature!"

"I have done no such thing!" Malrian snarls. "And you're welcome to see for yourself if you don't believe me!"

" _Oh gods, no. Please don't."_ Lumen's fingers twist in the bedsheets. Trapped between two angry Thalmor is bad enough, but being forcibly examined for any evidence of her master's imagined indiscretions is definitely _not_ how she wants to spend her morning.

Elenwen's lip curls in disgust. "Honestly, Malrian. What is your problem?"

"You're my problem!"

A lightning spell hisses to life, tendrils of energy blooming in Elenwen's hand. Before either Malrian or Lumen can react, it arcs through the air, hitting Malrian square on the backside, and the electrical energy travels through him and shocks Lumen by default. She yelps and her master curses, both of them scrambling to get away from each other.

Lumen tumbles off the bed, landing awkwardly on the floor. When Elenwen steps around to the other side to shout at Malrian, Lumen makes her escape. She slips from Malrian's bedchamber and runs down the hallway to her bedroom to get dressed. On a day like this, her best option is to be as far away from the house as physically possible, so after throwing on a tunic and trousers, she tears out of her room, down the staircase, and out the back door.

The orchard is dense and it's the perfect place for Lumen to spend a day in hiding. Her master will know where to find her if he truly has need of her, but she has a feeling he's going to be busy with his sisters today, and even if he isn't, Lumen would rather not be near him. No doubt he's going to be seething with anger for quite some time after such a rude awakening.

She breathes in the sweet, summer air as she walks between the rows of fruit trees, their branches bowing from the weight of their offerings. Stacks of empty baskets are piled beneath the heaviest of the trees, all waiting to be filled, and as she draws deeper into the orchard she comes across Silvan. He looks up from his task of inspecting an apple for pests or blemishes of any kind. Lumen's stomach flips when their eyes meet, and while she's happy to see him, she also wants to run the other way. She's tired of Silvan allowing her one step closer, and then taking two steps back. How much more of this constant push-and-pull does he think she can take?

"Lumen," he says, smiling softly. "What brings you out here?"

"Master and Mistress Elenwen are arguing, and I expect they will be doing so for most of the day," she tells him. "I decided to escape the chaos for a little while. Master will not have need of me for quite some time."

"I see." Silvan drops the apple into the basket, then reaches up to pick another. "Why do they argue so much?"

Lumen shrugs. "They usually argue about this breeding contract Mistress Elenwen is forcing my master into, but today they are fighting because she thinks my master has been-" she hesitates, a little embarrassed to even mention it. "Er- I'm not sure how to explain it- she believes my master has been intimate with me."

Silvan turns away, as if he's ashamed. "Is that- is that really something to argue about, though?"

"What do you mean?" Lumen asks, confused. "Of course it is! She's accusing my master of doing something he's never done. I cannot blame him for being angry."

"Really," Silvan says stiffly as he finally turns to face her. "Lu, I don't want to make you angry but- well, the servants talk quite a lot, and-" He shakes his head. "No, nevermind. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything. It's not my business."

"What do they say, Silvan?" she asks, her voice so firm and commanding it surprises the both of them. "Tell me."

Silvan heaves a defeated sigh. "They say you and the Justiciar have a very- intimate relationship. Which isn't surprising considering how most Thalmor treat their pets."

"I suppose we do," she says, folding her arms and glaring at Silvan now. "But that doesn't mean he fucks me."

"I'm sorry, Lu." Silvan says, and at least he has the good grace to look ashamed. "As much as the Thalmor tend to deny it, most Thalmor pets are little more than sex slaves, and so I just assumed the same was true for you."

Anger burns in the pit of her stomach. "So this is why you keep pushing me away," she says flatly, stepping away from him. "Because you don't want to be with some Bosmeri whore."

"What?" Silvan gasps, and he almost trips over the basket of apples when he moves to stop her from running away. "Wait, Lumen! That's not it at all!"

Lumen wrenches her arm out of his grasp. "Then what is it?"

He flinches at the tone of her voice, and the anger burning in her eyes. "Regardless of what your relationship is with the Justiciar, he would kill me if he ever found out. He might kill you too. You aren't free to do what you want, Lu. You suffer enough, and I refuse to be the cause of anymore suffering for you."

She laughs humorlessly. "What do you think you're doing by pushing me away all the time? You kiss me and then apologize, and avoid me for days. You think that doesn't hurt?"

"Only because I fear for both our lives," Silvan admits. "It may be cowardly of me, but you know as well as I do that the Justiciar has given us all strict orders to stay away from you. He doesn't want anyone near you."

"I don't care what he wants! I do what he wants all the time!" she snaps, surprised at her own words. Then, calmer, she says, "This is about what I want."

Silvan swallows hard, somewhat uncomfortable under the scrutiny of Lumen's intense gaze. But she wants him. Needs him. She doesn't love him, because love is frivolous and tends to turn even the most intelligent of minds into unthinking mush. This is nothing more than Lumen making a choice for herself. A small, fleeting moment of freedom, of rebellion, before she returns to her depressing life of servility.

"Lumen…"

"Shut up," she says, pushing Silvan up against the trunk of an apple tree and pressing her lips to his. She only briefly pulls away to say, "Touch me."

"I'm on a schedule," he gasps. "I have work to do."

"You're taking a five minute break," Lumen says, grabbing his wrist and guiding his hand beneath her tunic. She should probably leave him alone. She should probably listen to his weak refusals. But his dilated pupils and the tightness of his breeches urge her onward. He wants her. She wants him. There isn't much more to discuss. "Touch me, Silvan. Please."

Silvan breathes a soft laugh, his voice rough with desire when he says, "This will take longer than five minutes, Lu."

"I should hope so," she says, her voice wavering as Silvan's calloused hands travel across her stomach and over her unbound breasts. She hadn't bothered with a breast band when she got dressed. She was more focused on getting out of the house, but she's glad she didn't put one on, because what Silvan is doing to her breasts feels marvelous. "Gods, _yes_. Keep doing that."

"I'll do anything you want," Silvan murmurs, nipping at her neck. "Just tell me."

"I don't know," she says. "I've never done this before, Sil, I don't know what I- Oh!" Silvan's mouth closes over hers to stifle a loud squeak of both surprise and pleasure. One of his hands that had been lavishing attention on her breasts is now between her thighs, rubbing her through her trousers. The pressure and the friction feels amazing and Lumen doesn't know what to do with herself. She pulls her lips from his to take a breath. "More," she gasps. "More of _that_."

Silvan smiles warmly, giving her a quick kiss on the lips. "I have an idea," he says, and spins her around, so that her back is against the apple tree. "You have to promise to be quiet, though. Can you do that?"

"Yes. I don't want to get caught, either," she tells him, watching him curiously. Both excited and nervous about what's to come. "What are you doing?"

"You'll see." He grins, dropping to his knees and unlacing her trousers.

Lumen blushes, feeling terribly exposed in front of him. But that embarrassment soon fades away when Silvan does something she's only read about in the seedy romance novels she occasionally steals from the maids.

As it turns out, keeping quiet is no easy task…

* * *

The sun is dipping below the horizon by the time the two Bosmer walk to the edge of the orchard, carrying a large basket of apples between them.

"Are you all right?" he asks, laughing softly.

"Yes," she says, trying not to blush and failing. "Are you? I'm sorry I fell on you, I just-" her words trail off into a giggle. In the midst of a rather powerful orgasm, Lumen's knees had buckled and she lost her balance, falling on Silvan. She made it up to him by stroking him to completion, having been too shy to use her mouth as he had done. Silvan didn't seem to mind, and he told her there would be time for that later. Lumen hopes that is true. Because watching the handsome Bosmer come apart in her hands had been just as satisfying as having him between her legs.

"Don't worry about it. You didn't hurt me." Silvan smiles at her, lightly touching her shoulder before pulling away. Remembering that they are in full view of the house and could easily be seen. "I'll have to harvest the pears next. I think they'll be ripe in a few days."

"I'll see what I can do," Lumen answers softly. "If my master is busy, I'll gladly help you with the harvest."

"I always appreciate your company," he says, picking up the basket of apples and carrying them away to be stored in the cellar. "Good night, Lu."

"Night, Sil." Lumen straightens her tunic and brushes her fingers through her hair as she makes her way toward the house. Her moment of freedom is gone and now she must tend to her master, who is likely still surly from being told off by Elenwen. But she won't fret. She knows how to make her master happy, and as long as she can keep him happy then maybe she can continue to steal more moments of freedom for herself.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning, this chapter contains spoilers to Heiwako’s “Season Unending” fic.

Malrian shuffles through a stack of papers on his desk. Field reports, mostly. Very boring, but very necessary, and he is eager to throw himself into his paper work. He’s been content to hole himself up in his study ever since Elenwen gave him a thorough telling off. It was a telling off that he didn’t deserve, but it wounded his ego nonetheless.

The house is quiet today as Ancarion, his nephews, and sisters have all traveled to Leyawiin for a shopping excursion. He misses times like this, when there is not a sound to be heard save for the gentle scratch of his quill against parchment, and the soft chink of porcelain as his pet sets her teacup on its saucer.

“Did you finish your tea, pet?” he asks, not bothering to look up from his work.

“Yes, master,” Lumen says quietly.

The tone of her voice prompts him to look up. His pet is sitting in her usual spot by the window, her teacup placed on the sill and a book in her lap as she stares longingly at the garden.

“You seem distracted,” he mentions, dabbing his quill in the inkwell, and trying desperately to keep his voice level. “What is so important that it’s taking your attention away from me, pet?”

That gets her attention, and she has the good grace to look a little contrite. “I am sorry,” she says, her shoulders hunching in anticipation of punishment. “I was just admiring the roses.”

“I see.” Malrian taps the quill on the edge of the inkwell to rid it of excess ink. There are a million passive aggressive things he could say to that, and a few, just plain aggressive things he could do in response to her lapse in attention. But Lumen, whether she’s doing it on purpose or not, has developed a bit of a defiant streak, and he doubts physical punishment or verbal assault would do much to change that. If anything, it might inspire more disobedience. So rather than responding as he’d like to, he simply says, “They are rather lovely right now.”

Lumen relaxes slightly, but she doesn’t dare to turn her gaze away from him. She fidgets nervously for a few moments before finally speaking. “Master,” she says quietly, pulling his attention from his paper work. “May I, um--”

“Spit it out, girl.”

She flinches. “May I read in the garden today?” she asks quickly.

Malrian sighs, setting the quill down and leaning back in his chair. What to do? Should he give her the out that she’s looking for, so she can go find her little paramour? He’s tempted to never let her leave the house again, and to utilize one of Elenwen’s methods for obedience: a leash and collar laced with a shock spell to keep his unruly pet rooted firmly in her place. As effective as it is, that is not the way to break her.

“I-- I’m sorry-- I shouldn’t have asked,” she gasps, terrified by Malrian’s lingering silence. “I’ll stay in with you, master.”

“No,” he says, forcing the words out. “It’s all right, pet. Go on outside. Just be sure to come back in before dark.”

“Thank you, master. I will,” she says, genuinely surprised by his permission. She grabs her book, tucking it under her arm and sketching a quick bow before leaving the study.

When Malrian hears the back door click shut, he pushes away from his desk, walking down the hallway and into the parlor. There he finds two of his servants; a short, middle-aged Imperial woman and a female Bosmer. Both are diligently washing the windows, which had been smudged thanks to Ancarion’s unintelligent spawn.

“Nydia,” Malrian says. “I need a word.” With that, he turns on his heel and walks back to his study, the blonde Bosmer following along behind him.

She’s quite beautiful for a Bosmer. Her tan skin cast in a golden hue, her light, blonde hair cascading over her shoulders in large, looping curls. An odd coloration for a Bosmer, but not so odd when one is fathered by an Altmer. But what Malrian likes best about Nydia is not her beauty or her unquestioning obedience. It’s that she is one of the many Bosmeri Thalmor in his employ. A spy masquerading as hired help, gathering information and sniffing around for any sign of sedition.

Malrian leads her to the second floor hallway, where he stops near a large window that gives him a view of the garden. There, his pet is sitting on a wrought iron bench and reading her book, though he doubts she will be there for long. “I need you to keep an eye on Lumen,” he tells her.

“Of course, Justiciar,” she says with a nod.

“Watch her. Follow her. But remain unseen,” he says. “Actually, it is crucial that you remain unseen. My pet has a violent streak, as you know, and she might attack you if she thinks you are spying on her.”

“We are all aware of her-- _tendencies_ , Justiciar,” Nydia says, no doubt remembering an incident that happened a few years ago. Malrian had assigned a guard to keep an eye on Lumen while he worked. Unfortunately the guard was a blithering idiot and he chose to harass Lumen about her recently deceased mother, and his darling pet had killed the fool-- with a gardening tool, no less! Malrian had been so proud of her that day…

“Good,” he says, turning away from the window. “Report your observations to me by this evening.”

“As you command.” Nydia dips into a deep bow, and Malrian leaves her to do what she does best.

* * *

It’s late in the afternoon when a knock on his door disturbs Malrian from his work. He does not mind the disturbance as long as it’s Nydia returning with good news. News that his pet is _not_ doing anything untoward with the groundskeeper. “Nydia--”

The name is barely out of his mouth when the door swings open and Elenwen steps into his study. “Who is Nydia?” she asks, lifting a brow curiously. “Another pet you’ve not introduced me to?”

“No,” Malrian answers irritably. “She is-- a maid.”

“I see, and why were you expecting her?”

“Does it matter?” Malrian snaps. He does not wish to tell his sister, of all people, that he’s using a Thalmor spy to keep tabs on his pet. “You’re back early.”

She laughs. “Changing the subject, are we?” The smirk never leaves her face as she strolls around his office, glancing at the paintings on the wall and the books scattered about, and finally stopping near the window where Lumen left her teacup. “What is this?” Elenwen asks, bending over to pick up a small, empty teacup. “Are you letting your pet drink from the cups Mother gave you? You really are too indulgent to that girl.”

“I am _not_ ,” Malrian snaps.

Elenwen regards her brother for a long moment, then sniffs the teacup. “Is there-- _sylphium_ in this tea?”

“Yes,” he says. “And before you get any ideas, it’s just to prevent any accidents that might occur. Most of my guards are male, as you have noticed.”

“Mm,” Elenwen nods. “And your little pet does get a bit moon-eyed whenever she looks at your groundskeeper. He is quite handsome for a Bosmer, you know. You should have been more careful when you hired him.”

“I didn’t hire him,” he says, remembering how he allowed Aranwen a modicum of power over his estate. Could she have picked him out on purpose? Because he is handsome? Was she sleeping with the groundskeeper behind his back? Gods. The thought is enough to make him sick.

“Who hired him?”

“Er-- the steward did,” he says distractedly. He does not enjoy lying to his sister, because she can almost always see right through them. But there’s no way he’s going to admit he let his former lover have so much control over his estate.

Elenwen nods, accepting the answer. “How long have you been giving her this? Too much at a young age could render her sterile.”

“Years,” Malrian says, finally setting his quill down upon the desk. “She is most likely sterile at this point.”

“Good. Bosmer are particularly fertile compared to other races.” Elenwen sets the cup down, and turns to face Malrian when she says, “Rather concupiscent as well.”

Malrian sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose. “Yes, I am aware of the fact.”

“Does the girl know?” Elenwen asks. “Nothing stays a secret forever, you know. Not even from our pets.”

“No, and I don’t plan on telling her.” He leans back in his chair, the leather creaking softly at the shifting of his weight. “Elenwen, not to be rude, but is there a point to this interruption? I really am quite busy.”

Elenwen takes a seat in a chair across from his desk and folds her hands in her lap. “Yes, in fact. Aelfwynie is wanting to host a party--”

Malrian groans. “We already had a party.”

“Well, we’re going to have another one,” Elenwen says, her tone sharp. “I just received word that Supreme Emissary Psysha is coming for a visit. She’ll be arriving sometime tomorrow.”

“What?” Malrian sputters. He leans forward, his hands slamming down against his desk. “Mother is coming _here_? Why?”

Elenwen laughs lightly. “Oh, don’t look so frightened. Mother’s favorite child surely has nothing to fear,” she says, not bothering to keep the derision from her voice.

“Our mother is a woman that inspires fear,” Malrian gasps. “By the Eight, this is going to be a fucking disaster.”

“Malrian, _really_ ,” Elenwen sighs, and pats his hand in a rare display of sisterly affection. “It will be all right. She’s not coming on official business, she just wants to see her family. It’s been decades since all her children have been under the same roof.”

“Don’t lie to me!” he snaps, yanking his hand away from hers. “You called her here to oversee this wretched mating business didn’t you?”

“I did no such thing,” Elenwen says, her voice deceptively calm, but Malrian does not miss the anger in her words. “Accuse me of such nonsense again and I’ll make your life incredibly difficult.”

“You already have,” Malrian snarls. “First, you force me to enter some horrid breeding contract with that harpy, and now _this_ \--”

“Mother’s visit is as much of a shock to me as it is to you!” Elenwen pushes away from the chair and begins to pace around Malrian’s study. “I haven’t seen Mother in well over a decade, and her last visit was--” she pauses, and if Malrian hadn’t been watching her, he would never have seen the pain flicker across her features before she schools her expression into a calm mask of indifference. “Well-- it was rather emotionally draining, as you know.”

“I _don’t know_ ,” he says, watching his sister curiously. “You’ve always been a bit vague on the details of what happened.”

“I shall continue to be vague, because it’s not important.” She stops pacing and smoothes her robes down before turning to face him. “I will tell you _this_ , however. Mother is not fond of pets. She thinks they are an unnecessary distraction. So if you value your pet’s life, you might want to keep her locked up for the duration of Mother’s visit.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” His pet doesn’t take well to confinement, but Malrian would rather not risk the chance of something happening to the girl if she were to grab his mother’s attention.

* * *

Malrian quietly shuts the veranda door and walks across the patio to where Ancarion sits. His sons are playing a game of croquet in the yard, while Lumen sits nearby. His pet occasionally looks up from her book and watches the two males curiously, but she makes no attempt to join them.

"Ah, Malrian. I was just thinking about you," Ancarion says, scooting over on the bench and making room for him. "Would you like to have a seat? I was hoping we could talk about what happened the other night. Specifically, I would like to apologize for acting like such a brute."

"I'll stand," Malrian says, rolling his shoulders to ease the tension triggered by the disgusting memory of Ancarion's sloppy advances. "And you can apologize by giving me information."

"What sort of information? I'm afraid I'm not privy to--"

"Drop the act, Ancarion." Malrian watches with pleasure as Ancarion's expression hardens. "If my sources are correct, and they usually are, then you are most certainly _privy_ to the information that I seek."

Ancarion slumps in his seat, momentarily bested. "Which is?"

"I want to know about the last time the Supreme Emissary visited Elenwen," he says, watching Ancarion carefully. "I believe she was visiting my sister for an audit, is that correct?"

"Yes, that is correct. The Supreme Emissary stayed for two months," Ancarion tells him. "But surely you didn't need me to tell you that. You have sources, and there is an official report documenting the events of the audit."

"Not everything is documented, as you very well know." Malrian moves closer to Ancarion. "Elenwen said something interesting to me today. She told me to keep my pet locked up while the Supreme is visiting. I want to know why she would say such a thing.”

Ancarion's mouth thins, and he is quiet for a long time. "What do I get for divulging this information?"

_"You despicable bastard,"_ Malrian thinks. He presses two fingers to his temple, feeling a headache already coming on. "What do you want?"

"Oh," Ancarion purrs, locking Malrian in a lusty stare. "I think you know."

"Stop," Malrian snaps, his hands balling into fists. "I am no fool, Ancarion. You do not desire me anymore than I desire you, which is to say, not at all. But what you _do_ desire is financial security, which is something I can guarantee if you tell me what I want to know."

Across the yard, Calen shouts joyfully as Lillandril manages to convince Lumen to play a round of croquet with them. The sound attracts Ancarion's attention. Years spent raising children have left him unable to ignore any cry made by one of his own, even a sound of joy. He watches them teach Lumen the basics of the game, tapping his fingers on his knee while he considers Malrian's offer. "Ask your question, Malrian," Ancarion finally says, his voice normal and thankfully devoid of false flattery.

"If I recall correctly, Elenwen had a pet when the Supreme visited. But not after. In the past, I did try to obtain my own copies of all reports taken during that time, but I was denied. My sister claims the reports are only given out on a 'need to know' basis, and according to her, I did not need to know." Malrian shifts his weight from foot to foot, his hands clasped behind his back as he watches Ancarion. "However, my sources tell me that you were there, and while you may not know all the details, you know more than I. So what happened? What became of her pet and what, if anything, does his release have to do with the Supreme Emissary?"

Ancarion watches his children, but he tilts his head slightly, considering Malrian's question. "What do you know of Elenwen's pet?"

"I know he was a Nord, and that is all."

"The Nord turned out to be the son of a Jarl, and the Supreme Emissary demanded that Elenwen set him free."

"Why not kill him instead?"

"Because he was important, and he could be used by the Thalmor." Ancarion turns to smirk at Malrian. "He would have been killed if he wasn't a Jarl's son. The boy was a distraction, and the Supreme Emissary saw that, just as she will see how distracted you are by your girl."

"I am hardly distracted by her," Malrian says, sneering at Ancarion.

"As you say, Malrian. You're lucky the girl is of little importance outside these walls, or the Supreme Emissary might order you to release her too," Ancarion says, laughing softly. "She's not Bosmeri nobility is she? You and Elenwen do seem to have the same refined tastes..."

"No," Malrian says, turning away from Ancarion to watch Lumen play with his nephews. "She is no one."

“Good. That might just save her life,” Ancarion says, amusement thick in his voice. “I’ll come to your study later to discuss my fee for divulging such sensitive information.”

“Fine,” Malrian sighs, turning away from Ancarion. He returns to the relative peace and quiet of his house, still stunned by the mere idea that Elenwen thought to warn him to keep his pet hidden. Was she actually trying to protect him from suffering the same loss as she? It's not often that Elenwen acts like a sister, rather than a colleague. It's easy to forget that they are even related. But even though his sister had been vague on the details, she _did_ warn him, and it is a warning that he shall heed.

* * *

_Perhaps asking Aranwen to move in with him was a rash decision, but it is a decision that makes him happier than he's been in years. He does not know if its love or lust, and he doesn't really care. All he cares about is having this beautiful, charming woman by his side. When the carriage brought her to his home, he was rather surprised to see a minimal amount of luggage piled on top. He expected there to be more. What he did not expect, however, was the bit of baggage that followed Aranwen out of the carriage…_

_"You-- you did not tell me you had a child," Malrian says, staring down at the small Bosmer currently hiding behind her mother's skirts._

_"Yes I did," Aranwen laughs, her brilliant smile and deep, green eyes momentarily distracting Malrian from the issue at hand. "Come on, sweet girl. Don't be rude. Come out and say hello."_

_The tiny Bosmer reluctantly steps out from behind her mother, clutching a well-loved, stuffed rabbit in her arms. "Hello, sir," she says softly._

_"Justiciar," he mother patiently corrects her, before turning her attention back to Malrian. "This is my daughter, Lulawen--" Aranwen glances over her shoulder at the servants unloading the carriage. "Ah, pardon me for just a moment," she says, then runs off to give the servants instructions, leaving Malrian alone with her child._

_They both stare at each other, each a bit lost on what to say. He knows nothing of children, and the girl seems rather frightened of him. Her large, golden eyes are wide and fearful as she stares up at him. He cannot blame her, his black Thalmor robes are meant to inspire fear and respect, and he does tend to tower over her._

_Malrian kneels down, and even kneeling he is still taller than the girl, but hopefully less intimidating. "So, Lulawen? That is a pretty name. And who is your little friend here?" he asks, nodding to her rabbit._

_"Maxwell," she says softly. "It's nice to meet you, mister Justiciar, sir."_

_"Just call me Malrian, little one," he says, unable to keep from smiling._

Those memories do not make him smile now, though his dear pet does offer him some modicum of happiness when she's behaving. But memories of her mother inspire both pain and anger. How was he to know the beautiful Bosmer would slip poison into his tea? Sometimes he wonders how differently things would be if she hadn't tried to kill him, and sometimes he wonders if she ever loved him at all.

Malrian growls at himself, pushing those foolish thoughts from his mind as he shoves Lumen into her room. "You will not leave this room until I come get you," he snaps. "The servants will bring your meals and hot water for baths, and you will behave. If I hear you clawing at the walls, I'll confine you in the cellar, do you understand?"

"Yes, master," he says, her eyes on the ground. "I understand."

"Good." He turns to leave, but he is stopped by a sudden tug on his robes. That small gesture reminds him of happier days, when his pet was just a young girl. She would often tug on his robes to get his attention and then dart out of sight when he turned. He would pretend to be shocked and unable to find her even though her giggling would always give her away. But now it is not game, and there are no smiles or laughter coming from his pet. Only drooping ears and wide, pleading eyes.

“Master, please, I beg you,” she gasps, the slightest hint of tears welling up in her eyes. “Tell me what I’ve done wrong. Please don’t lock me away. Please allow me to make amends.”

For a moment, a voice in his mind reminds him that she does deserve punishment for whatever she has, hasn’t, or has thought about doing with the groundskeeper. But he ignores that train of thought for now. “I know you hate this, my girl,” he says, stepping forward and running a hand through her hair. He knows being confined reminds Lumen of the time he locked her away in her room while Rulindil tortured her mother for information. He hadn’t meant for the girl to hear Aranwen’s screams, but she did. “It is not a punishment. It is to keep you safe.”

“To keep me safe?” she asks, her head tilting slightly. “From who?”

“From _whom_ ,” he corrects. “And never you mind. Just stay here, obey, and everything will be fine. Do you understand?”

“I understand, Master,” she says, albeit reluctantly. “As you command.”

“Good girl.” He rests his hand on the doorframe and sighs. “I’ll be back to check on you this evening,” he tells her, pulling the door closed and locking it before Lumen can respond. He hates this. He feels as if he is a little boy again, and his Mother is depriving him of his favorite toy because he has misbehaved. But he will not sulk, and he certainly will not openly flaunt his pet in front of his mother. It is important that he remain in his mother’s good graces for the foreseeable future, and if that means he must lock his pet away for a while, then so be it. He will endure, and so will she.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry the huge delay between chapters. The creative well was running a little dry for this story, but its been filled again. :D Anyway, that reveal about Lumen being sterile is something I will eventually tackle in Causa Mortis, but those of you who are reading this fic get to know early. It’s not exactly a big deal, she’s never had any particular desire to have children, but it’s yet another choice that Malrian made for her. 
> 
> Supreme Emissary Psysha is a character Heiwako created. I am merely borrowing her because she’s evil and wicked and vile. Obviously, I adore her. :D


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for abuse, rape threats, etc. Malrian really hits his evil stride in this chapter.

Malrian checks his appearance in his vanity mirror. He looks impeccable, as usual, but with the impending arrival of the Supreme Emissary, he's been obsessing about his appearance all morning. He can find no flaw in his clothing, as his Justiciar uniform has been recently mended and polished. The early morning sunlight dances across the inky leather like moonlight upon water. His long, white hair cascades over his shoulders, contrasting nicely with the black robe. There is not a single hair out of place. No blemish marring his skin. He is perfect.

Despite all that, there is an impending sense of dread that settles over him when he leaves the safety of his chambers. His mother will be there soon, and he cannot argue with her like he argues with Elenwen. If his sister orders him to mate with Ravienne, he can fight back and delay the process. But if his mother orders him to do so, he will have no choice but to immediately comply. If he doesn't he could be stripped of his titles, purged from the family records, and cast out on the streets with not a single septim to his name, and that's only if Mother is in a good mood. He is her youngest child, male, unmarried and childless. He is of no value to her if he is disobedient.

Malrian always knew this day would come. He's been avoiding the entire, wretched breeding process for decades. But it seems as if his time has finally run out. He refuses to believe that the Supreme Emissary Psysha is visiting just to see her children. Elenwen has undoubtedly been in contact with her, and has told her all about his unwillingness to go along with breeding.

He schools his expression into one of sophisticated disinterest as he steps into his foyer. His sisters are already there, along with Ravienne, Ancarion, and his two brats.

"Nice of you to finally join us, brother," Elenwen says coolly. "A caller came by moments before you arrived. Mother's entourage has been spotted less than a mile away."

Malrian forces his breathing to remain steady, despite the anxiety twisting his stomach into knots. "Very good," he says, proud of how calm he sounds. "Is everything in order for tonight’s party?"

"Yes!" Aelfwynie chirps. "The ballroom looks amazing, the caterers are currently preparing the meal, and the guest list is positively bursting! Everyone I invited has chosen to attend!"

Malrian clenches his jaw, Aelfwynie really is lucky she's his favorite sister. His voice is monotone when he says, “Marvelous. I am beside myself with excitement. I cannot wait for my home to be invaded by a hoard of strangers.”

Aelfwynie rolls her eyes. “They’re not strangers,” she says. “They’re your friends and colleagues.”

“You have friends?” Lady Ravienne asks, batting her lashes and looking shocked at the mere idea. Beside her, Elaninde demurely covers her mouth with her hand and laughs.

“With me, all of you!” Elenwen snaps, effectively stopping another argument between Malrian and Ravienne before it even begins. “The Supreme Emissary will arrive soon.”

They line up in front of the portico, Elenwen will greet their mother first, as is her right as the firstborn daughter. Ancarion and his two misfits stand next to her, followed by Elaninde, Aelfwynie, Ravienne, and lasty, Malrian. As the youngest male in the family he is not very important at all, so he is the last to greet their matriarch. 

A train of carriages trundle down the tidy, cobblestone path in front of his home. The first, a white and gold carriage that is pulled by four, snow white geldings, stops in front of the porch. Two servants descend on the carriage; one opens the door while the other places an ornate stepstool on the ground.

His mother steps from the carriage, moving so smoothly one could almost think she is floating. A white, silk dress clings to her body. The dress has been cut specifically to accent her curves, highlighting her role as a mother. Loose sleeves hang past her shoulders, fluttering in the wind. The neckline of the dress plunges low, showing off her full breasts, and allowing them to rest naturally, rather than push them up and together as many of the current styles do. A wide, jeweled belt sits on her hips, emphasizing their width. The slits along the sides of her skirt reveal her thighs, which are adorned with stretch marks from her multiple, successful pregnancies.

She stands in stark contrast to Elenwen, whose body is concealed beneath her somber, black robes. Elenwen could have dressed in a way that showcased her own signs of motherhood, but she chose to greet Psysha as the First Emissary, and not as a fellow mother. The Supreme Emissary is dressed how most matriarchs dress in Alinor. Wide hips and stretch marks are a badge of honor. A silent declaration to the rest of society that a woman has bred successfully and her bloodline will continue on.

Psysha’s full lips curl into a smile when she greets Elenwen. She compliments her, kisses her forehead and embraces her. She showers Elenwen in more affection in five seconds than she’s ever shown Malrian in his entire lifetime. He supposes he ought to feel jealous, but he was always warned against seeking out his mother’s affection rather than vying for it. In truth, Aelfwynie is more of a mother to him than Psysha. It was she who taught him to read, disciplined him when necessary, and tucked him into bed at night. Human society would find his distance from his mother shameful, or perhaps sad. But such things are quite normal in Altmeri society. She gave him nine months of her time and energy, what more should he really ask for?

Next, Psysha greets Aelfwynie with as much enthusiasm as she did with Elenwen. Aelfwynie may not be a Thalmor, but she is a rarity by Altmeri standards. She is madly in love with her husband, and she’s had multiple female children by him, thus ensuring the family lineage will carry on. His Mother greets Elaninde as one would a guest at a party; she takes her hand and compliments her on her beauty, and then she moves on. Psysha ignores Ancarion and her two grandsons, as is expected, and she only awards Ravienne a polite nod as she passes her by.  
“Malrian, my darling boy,” Psysha purrs, and for a moment Malrian thinks he is hallucinating, because his mother is actually addressing him. She touches his chin, turning his head side to side. “You grow more handsome with each passing century.”

“Thank you, Supreme Emissary,” Malrian intones, not knowing how to respond to her compliment.

She smiles at him, shaking her head. “I am not here on official business, Malrian. I am here as your mother. Though I do wish to speak to you later about the success you’ve had here in Cyrodiil.”

“Of course, Mother,” he says, the word feeling unfamiliar on his tongue. “I would be honored to speak with you whenever it is convenient.” His eyes briefly meet Elenwen’s and she is just as surprised as he that his mother is speaking to him and praising him.

“Elenwen,” she calls over her shoulder. “Walk me to my room. I would speak with you privately.”

"Yes, Mother." Elenwen follows after their mother, and if she is nervous about speaking with her privately, she doesn't allow it to show.

With his mother momentarily occupied, Malrian excuses himself and retreats to his study. He has no desire to socialize with his sisters or his simpleton nephews, and he most certainly does not wish to speak to Ravienne or Ancarion. All he wants is a few moments alone, and the only company he is willing to tolerate is that of his pet. But he cannot risk it. Psysha likely knows about his pet, but the less time she sees him spending with her, the better.

* * *

A tremulous sense of peace settles over Malrian as he carefully drips sealing wax onto a folded letter, and presses his signet ring into the rapidly hardening substance. His family crest stares back at him from the neatly folded letter. It is easy to lose himself in the intricate design adorning the wax, and in what it means. A sealed letter is a sign of a job well done, or of one just beginning. If he loves anything, he loves the work he does for the Dominion. Nothing makes him happier than moving assets or soldiers, and interrogating and executing prisoners.

He wishes he could view Ravienne as he views his work. Elenwen claims it’s his duty, but it is hard for him to see it that way. He can serve the Dominion so much more efficiently behind his desk, rather than beneath some wailing slattern.

The door to his study swings open, and when he looks up he expects to see his mother or Elenwen, but in their stead is Elaninde and Ravienne. “It is considered rude to enter one’s chambers without knocking,” he says, his voice calm as water, masking the anger that bubbles beneath. “I trust you have good reason for interrupting my work.”

Ravienne places her hand to her chest, feigning offense. “I only wished to see you,” she says, perching on the corner of his desk. “If we are to be mated then we really should learn to tolerate each other.”

“I would tolerate you better if you were in the other room, my lady.”

“You are lucky that I am trying,” she snaps, all false pretense gone. “Especially after the way you’ve treated me.”

“If you are so displeased, then we should terminate our agreement,” he suggests. “Perhaps, then you could find someone more suited to your clumsy advances.”

“Ravienne is hardly a clumsy lover,” Elaninde purrs. “Trust me, I would know.”

Malrian is prepared to tell them off, but the sound of his door opening _again_ silences him. He rises from his chair when he sees his mother enter the room, and he isn’t sure if her presence will be a blessing or a curse. Only time will tell.

Psysha steps across the carpet, her dress billowing behind her as she approaches his desk. “Malrian, my dear, I hope I am not interrupting anything,” she says, but only for the sake of appearing polite. The Supreme Emissary may interrupt whomever she pleases. “I would like to speak with you.”

“It would be an honor, mother.”

Elaninde inclines her head. “Pardon us, mother. Lady Ravienne and I shall take our leave.”

“Just a moment,” Psysha says suddenly, and she takes a step toward Ravienne, running a strand of her long, black hair through her fingers. “You are to be providing me with grandchildren, is that correct?”

“It is, First Emissary.”

“I wonder where Elenwen managed to find you,” she says, displeasure threading through her voice. “You have such dark hair. What a shame. I was hoping for blonde grandchildren.” Psysha quickly removes her hand from Ravienne’s hair, as if it were something nasty and impure. 

“There is a chance our children will take after Malrian rather than me,” Ravienne says, her voice strained.

“One always hopes their children will take after the more attractive parent,” Psysha says, while Malrian revels in the insults she heaps upon Ravinne. “But sadly, that is not always the case. Now leave, both of you. I wish to speak with my son.”

He watches the two women leave his study with immense satisfaction. “Are you not pleased with my mate, Mother?” he asks as he leads her to the sitting area near the bay window. 

“I am not,” she says, sitting primly on the divan. “You are my fourth child, and a male. I never expected much from you. But what you have accomplished in the last decade alone is rather impressive. As such, you deserve an attractive mate with more connections. Ravienne’s only connection is Elaninde, and between you and me, that isn’t much.” She taps her chin with a perfectly manicured nail, regarding him very seriously for a moment. “Tell me, Malrian, why did you not choose a mate for yourself?”

His back goes rigid at that question, and he wonders how to answer. She would not like the truth, and she would see straight through a lie. A half-truth, then. “I know it sounds absurd, but I never got around to it. I like to stay busy, and with all that I do, I’ve hardly had any time to look for a proper mate.”

Psysha nods, seemingly satisfied with his answer. “You certainly have been busy,” she says. “I want to hear the story of how you eradicated the Dark Brotherhood from Cyrodiil.”

“Were you not given the reports?” he asks, a little surprised she would ask him about that.

“Of course I read the reports,” she says tersely. “Perhaps I want to hear the story from my son, himself.”

“Yes, mother. Forgive me.” Malrian stares down at his hands neatly folded in his lap, wondering where to begin. Again, he cannot tell her the truth-- that he suspected Lumen’s mother was an assassin, sent to get into his good graces and kill him. That heartbreak and betrayal is what started him down the path to his one, major success. “As you know, the Dark Brotherhood managed to kill quite a few of our high ranking agents here. When I heard of more and more Thalmor falling to the hands of those degenerates, I started to look into it. As luck would have it, an assassin that was sent to kill a fellow justiciar was caught. Rather than kill him, the justiciar had him imprisoned so I could question him. I wasn’t certain if an interrogation would work, so I bribed him instead.”

Psysha lifts one perfectly shaped eyebrow. “That was brave. He could have run off with the money and warned his brethren.”

“He could have, yes, but only if I let him go,” Malrian says, a tiny smirk lifting the corner of his mouth. “He remained imprisoned until I could verify that what he said was true. It was, and I did eventually free him with his reward.”

“When did you free him?” she asks. “After you destroyed their sanctuaries?”

“I set him free after Bruma was destroyed. He showed us to the Night Mother’s supposed crypt, which we raided, only to find nothing. I expected as much, however. The Night Mother was nothing but a fairy story used to justify murder.”

“The assassin led you to one of the Dark Brotherhood’s most precious relics? I find that hard to believe.”

“The Dark Brotherhood was falling, and we offered him more gold than he would ever see working for them. His beliefs kept him from killing his own kind, but he was more than happy to point out his fellow assassins to us, and one by one, they fell to our blades.”

“The report said there were two sanctuaries,” she says, the tone of her voice putting Malrian on edge. “What of the other?”

“Ah, well, that is where things got complicated,” he admits. “The assassin refused to tell us where it was. He said there was no one left and no reason to destroy the sanctuary. So we silenced him. I’ve had guards stationed in Cheydinhal for the past six months, searching for any signs of leftover assassins, but so far there have been none.”

“Can you be certain you’ve destroyed the Brotherhood? Even without knowing where the last sanctuary is?”

“Yes, I am certain that my work is complete.”

“Good,” she says, gracefully crossing one leg over the other. “Because I have an assignment for you.”

“You have but to ask,” he says, because an assignment from the Supreme Emissary herself might give him the perfect excuse to get out of this horrid mating contract in favor of his true duty to the Dominion.

“How far would you be willing to travel in order to eradicate more assassins?”

“To the ends of Nirn, if I had to.”

Psysha laughs. “You won’t have to go that far, my dear. Just to Alinor.”

“Truly? The Dark Brotherhood have a hold in Alinor?”

“No,” she shakes her head, her fluffy, golden hair swaying with the movement. “One of my advisors believes the killings to be the work of a different group. We do not yet know who they are, or who they are working for. Since you had such success here, I want to have you by my side in Alinor.”

“What about--” he stops himself before he asks _“What about Lumen?”_ Would he even be able to bring her with him? He cannot just leave his little pet behind.

“Who? Lady Ravienne? Don’t tell me you’re attached to her,” Psysha laughs. “Do this for me and you will rise higher in the ranks than you ever thought you would. Do this, and I will see to it that you are given to a suitable mate with connections and traits just as attractive as your own.”

“I will gladly do this for you,” he breathes, giddy at the chance to _go home_. Glad to leave Ravienne behind and-- well, he will figure out a way to bring his pet with him. He will not leave her behind.

* * *

Lumen stares out the window at the clear, blue sky. She gave up on reading hours ago, after she kept dozing every few pages. Now, she just sits at her small writing desk, idly picking at a dent in the wood. She is bored beyond belief. How could Malrian expect her to stay locked up like this? How long does he expect her to tolerate this before she loses her mind?

The sound of the doorknob turning rouses her, and she stands up, straightening the wrinkles from her skirt. She wonders if her master has had a change of heart and he’s come to free her. If not that, then perhaps he’s at least willing to offer her a bit of company for a few minutes. But when the door swings open to reveal Ravienne instead of her master, Lumen’s heart sinks.

Ravienne slips an odd-looking hairpin back into her bun. “Come on, girl. Your master has need of you.”

“He does?” she asks. “He would come fetch me himself if he did.” The words are out of her mouth before she thinks better of it, and Ravienne narrows her eyes at her.

“I am going to be here for a very long time,” she snaps, resting her hands on her hips. “You are expected to follow my orders, as well!”

“But--” she flinches when Ravienne stalks toward her with her hand raised, as if she means to strike her. “Yes, mistress,” she says quickly. “Forgive my impudence-- I didn’t mean to offend--”

Ravienne swings her arm, but rather than slapping Lumen, she balls her hand into a fist and punches her square in the jaw. Lumen stumbles backwards, her back connecting painfully with the edge of her writing desk. There are stars dancing in her vision and a sharp, swelling pain spreads across the side of her face. She stumbles to the ground, her mind reeling from what just happened.

“Malrian may get off on your groveling, but I don’t!” She grabs Lumen by the collar of her dress, and while she doesn’t have the same strength as Malrian, she is still able to drag the little Bosmer to her feet. “If the fool wasn’t so enamoured with you, I’d be pregnant by now!”

“I doubt it,” Lumen says through gritted teeth as she tries to escape Ravienne’s grasp. She doesn’t know what the woman is up to, but her master would _never_ send a guest to fetch her. He either does it himself, or he’ll send a servant if he is unable.

“How dare you!” she hisses, her hand letting go of Lumen’s dress only to yank at her hair.

Lumen lashes out at her attacker, stamping on her foot and digging the heel of her shoe into the exposed flesh of Ravienne’s foot. She flails her arms, nails scratching skin and ripping fabric. “Let me go!” she shouts. “My master will hear of this!”

Ravienne cries out in pain, stumbling away from her, looking rather shocked. She hadn’t expected such ferocity from Malrian’s pampered pet. Lumen darts out the door before Ravienne can attack her again, running down the hall with the other woman hot on her heels. Her master will be furious about this, but she doesn’t know who else to run to for protection.

They both descend the stairs, their feet thumping loudly against the wood as they both run toward Malrian’s study. But the noise attracts more attention than either of them want, and Elenwen steps out of the sitting room and gasps. “What in Auriel’s name is going on, here?”

Lumen skids across the marble, coming to a stop at Elenwen’s feet and dropping to the ground. She has no choice but to grovel at her feet, hoping for mercy. “She attacked me, mistress!”

“I did no such thing!” Ravenne snarls, limping toward Elenwen. “Look at what that beast did to me!”

“Keep your voices down,” Elenwen hisses. “Malrian is meeting with the Supreme Emissary, and I do not want them interrupted by either of you.”

Elenwen’s warning comes too little, too late. Malrian steps out of his study, a quiet fury burning behind his eyes as he looks to the three women in the hallway. “What was all that racket? Mother and I are trying to have a conversation.”

“Your little mongrel attacked Lady Ravienne,” Elenwen says, looking to Ravienne and then to Lumen. “Supposedly.”

Psysha steps out of the study, her discerning eyes sweeping over the interesting scene in the hallway. “I thought you would have more control over those in your care, Malrian,” she says, her voice soft and menacing. “You command your soldiers so well.”

Everyone gathered in the hallway falls silent. Malrian has no excuses to offer, and Elenwen knows better than to involve herself in this affair. The only sound is the soft click of Psysha’s heels as she steps around the group, carefully studying every minute detail. She stops in front of Ravienne first, gingerly taking her bruised hand in her own to examine the swollen, bruised knuckles she gave herself when she punched Lumen.

“Can you not cast a simple healing spell, dear?” Psysha asks. “There is no reason for you to stumble around, covered in bruises.”

“I can, Supreme Emissary, but--”

“But, what? Were you expecting pity?” she asks, amused. “From me, or from my son? Because I assure you, it will take more than a little scrap with the hired help to earn pity from either of us.”

“She isn’t hired help, she is his _plaything_!” Ravienne says, her voice shaking with rage. “ _She_ is the reason he has no interest in me!”

The others may not notice, but she can hear Malrian taking a slow, deep breath. That, combined with the stiffness of his posture tells Lumen all she needs to know, and she wishes she could run. He is _furious_. Mostly at Ravienne, but probably at her as well. He wanted her to remain hidden from the Supreme Emissary, but now she’s here, groveling on the floor while the woman stalks around her like a wolf on the prowl.

“That’s quite an accusation,” Psysha says, then taps Lumen on the shoulder. “Stand up, girl, so that I may speak with you. I cannot hold a conversation with someone who is wallowing on the floor.”

Lumen does as she’s bid, standing quickly with her eyes trained on the ground. Psysha grips her chin between her thumb and forefinger, lifting her face and moving it side-to-side, her gaze lingering upon the swollen bruise on her jaw. “Do you know who I am, girl?”

“The Supreme Emissary.”

“Beyond that.”

“I do not know,” she answers, her body quivering in fear. “I am sorry.”

“I am Supreme Emissary Psysha,” she tells her. “And I am Malrian’s mother, did you know that?”

“No, mistress.” She can scarcely believe she’s speaking to her master’s mother, let alone the leader of the Aldmeri Dominion. Oh, this is not good.

“What is the nature of your relationship with Malrian?” Psysha asks, smiling sweetly as she gently pulses a healing spell across her swollen jaw. But Lumen knows better. She knows it is only a ploy to gain her trust.

Lumen’s eyes flick to her master’s angry face, and then back to Psysha. She’s never had to describe their relationship before, and it’s not exactly an easy thing to put into words. “I-- I am his pet. I provide him with company if he wishes, and I leave when he tires of me.”

“Do you pleasure him sexually?” she asks calmly, as if she is an interrogator with no emotional stake in the mer around her.

“No, mistress,” she gasps, while Malrian blanches at the question. “Never.”

“Lady Ravienne seems to think so.”

Lumen hesitates, glancing at Ravienne before continuing. “Lady Ravienne is looking for someone else to blame for her own failures,” she says, figuring she ought to at least earn the beating she received earlier. “She is simply too low-bred for my master’s refined tastes.”

“You little bitch!” Ravienne snaps.

“Leave us. This is a family matter.” Psysha doesn’t bother to look at Ravienne when she gives the order. Instead, she turns to look at both Malrian and Elenwen. “My children and their proclivity for willful pets,” she sighs. “What is a mother to do?”

“Mother, please,” Malrian begins, his voice nervous and uncertain for once. “I can explain--”

“I do not require any explanation, Malrian,” she says tersely. “If you are to come to Alinor, you cannot bring an untrained pet with you. She may get away with lashing out at your guests here, but the laws surrounding pet ownership in Alinor are quite strict, and I will not suffer the shame of you being fined because of your wild Bosmer.”

“I have broken her before, Mother,” he says with more confidence. “I can do it again.”

“See that you do. Because if you do not have her perfectly trained by the time we leave, then she’ll have to be put down.” Psysha, fluffs her hair, breathing yet another sigh. Having all the signs of a mother who is disappointed in her children. “See to your pet, Malrian. We will talk again at supper.”

* * *

Malrian practically drags Lumen back to her chambers, where the servants have already brought her evening bath. He slams the door shut behind them, and shoves her further into the room. “Do I even want to know why you attacked Ravienne?”

“Because she attacked me!” Lumen gasps, cringing in his shadow. “I didn’t know what to do!”

“What you do is tolerate whatever she does to you,” he snaps. “Then you tell me what has happened and I will be the one to deal with her, not you!”

“Yes, master,” she whispers. “I’m so sorry, master.”

He stares at the large, copper tub of water. It’s been sitting there a while, as there is no steam coming from it. Good. A cold, uncomfortable bath will only be the first part of her punishment. “Your bath is getting cold,” he murmurs.

“I suppose it is,” she says, surprised by the change of subject. 

“Disrobe and get in your bath,” he says suddenly. “No sense in wasting it.” When she looks up at him in question, he can no longer control his anger. He lunges at her, shoving her into the lukewarm water, clothes and all. “When I give you an order, _you do it_ ,” he growls, grabbing her by the hair and yanking her from the water. “Do you understand me, girl?” When all Lumen can do is cough and sputter rather than provide a suitable reply, he shoves her head beneath the surface and holds her down. He doesn’t care that his robes are now soaked, and he barely registers the little hands grabbing at his arm. All he cares about is putting her in her place. Taming her. _Breaking her_. And if he cannot break her, then _he_ will be the one to kill her, not his mother, and certainly not one of her lackeys.

He yanks her back out of the water, only for her to wretch upon the first gasp of air. “Do you realize what is happening? Do you realize that I hold your life in my hands?” He leans closer to her, reveling in the fear in her eyes. “I could kill you in so many ways. I could drown you. Electrocute you. I could call my guards up here and let them fuck you until there was nothing left of your spirit. Would you like that?”

“No,” she cries. “Please _don’t_ \--” Her words dissolve into meaningless drivel as the tears start to fall uncontrollably.

“I’ve no palate for your tears, pet.” Malrian pushes her beneath the surface again, squeezing his hand around her throat and watching her thrash. She fights even harder this time, fear and the basic will to survive taking over her sense of obedience. He drags her out of the tub, dropping her to the floor and watching her body shake as she breathes in lungfuls of air.

He holds his silence as he watches. Her body shivering from the cold and from air deprivation. Her rasping breaths, the water still rattling in her lungs. He watches, satisfied, when she remembers herself and she crawls across the wet carpet and curls up at his feet. Her voice is little more than a soft murmur; her lungs too weak to push enough air to her sore throat. But he understands her. Her desperate pleas for mercy and her promises to be good. But they are not enough. Not this time.

“Come with me, pet.” He grabs the collar of her dress, dragging her upright and forcing her to walk. She stumbles down the hallway, her legs weak, but she knows better than to test his patience by falling behind. The servants that they pass all turn their heads to look away when they see a furious justiciar dragging his disobedient pet through the corridors of the estate. They know that it’s best to pretend they see nothing at all, lest they fall victim to his temper.

They pass through the kitchens and down into the vast cellar, her waterlogged dress dripping a path of bathwater all the way. It doesn’t matter. He’ll have the servants mop up, and it will be as if this entire, tedious affair of punishing his pet never happened.

Down through the twisting hallways of the cellar, he finally reaches the room at the very back. The interrogation chamber. The room is pitch black and practically soundproof, equipped with a drain to dispose of any blood, viscera, or any other unsavory substances that leak out during a typical Thalmor interrogation. He wrenches the door open and shoves Lumen inside. She cries out when she lands on the floor, which is tacky with the half-dried remnants of his last prisoner.

“Did you know your mother died in here? Not by my hand, unfortunately. But on my orders.” He motions at the rack on the far side of the room. “Just over there.”

“B-but you said--” she gasps, hysterical sobs threatening to overtake her once again. “You said you tried to save her.”

“The truth would have saved her,” he snaps, curling his lip as Lumen pulls away from the sticky floor, her dress coated in old blood. “Your obedience will save you, pet. You want to live, don’t you?”

“I--” she hesitates for a moment, as if she actually has to think about that question. “I do.”

“Good,” he says, pulling the large, door shut. 

“No!” she screams, scrambling toward the door. “No! Please don’t leave me in here! You can’t!”

A tendril of lightning arcs from his hand, hitting Lumen and throwing her back into the room, and away from the door. “I can and I will,” he growls. “You will remain here until I decide to come get you. Pray that I don’t forget about you.” He slams the door shut, muffling the sound of his pet’s terrified screams.

As muffled as they are, he can still hear her desperate cry of, _“Master, please! You can’t leave me in here! Come back!”_ Despite her cries and the effect they have on him, he keeps walking. It is imperative that he breaks her again. Mother is right, though it pains him to admit it, his pet must be properly broken if she is to come to Alinor with him.

Lumen may think being locked in the cellar is her final lesson, but it is only the beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So how many of you really hate Malrian now? Poor Lumen is in for a rough time these next few chapters...
> 
> The Dark Brotherhood thing - I am taking some liberties with the lore. There is little information about the fall, and I don't think Cicero's journal could be 100% reliable because it seems like his depictions of how other assassins died, etc. may have been hearsay rather than things he witnessed. It also seems like he was starting to lose his mind even before everyone died off. His writing starts to really take a change in Volume 3. (I don't want to admit how much I studied those damn journals so I could understand the character. Augh.)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: racism, gendered insults, torture, and a brief mention of menstruation.

Malrian drums his fingers against his desk, barely registering Ravienne’s angry voice. Elenwen’s stormy silence concerns him more than the incessant bleating of some painted whore. Yet, here he is, trapped behind his desk while she squawks about a few minor scrapes and bruises. There is some part of him that is rather pleased that his pet did such damage, although he is disappointed she didn’t do more. Regardless, he is furious Lumen chose to misbehave while his mother is here. Of all the times for her to behave like the little, Bosmeri beast that she is…

He sighs and holds up his hand in order to silence her. “Please, Ravienne, give me a moment to speak.”

“You’ve had plenty!” she snaps. “That monster of yours is completely out of control, and I will not have her around our children!”

“We don’t have any children.”

“Not yet! But someday we will!” She places her hands on her hips, stepping around the desk to loom over him where he sits. “She is dangerous and she needs to be put down!”

He stands up so fast he nearly topples Ravienne over. “How dare you order me around in my own home,” he hisses. “The breeding contract does _not_ give you any authority over me. You would do well to remember that at the end of the day, I am a Thalmor Justiciar and you are just a receptacle for my seed.”

Ravienne gasps, stepping away from him and throwing her hands in the air. “That does it! I am done with this!” She stomps to the door of his study, ranting all the way. “I won’t take this kind of abuse from some _male_ who doesn’t know his place, Elenwen! I can’t do it! I _won’t_ do it!”

Elenwen does not look over from her place by the window. She stands still, her hands clasped behind her back as she watches the sunset turn the sky into a blaze of celestial fire. Ravienne does not wait for a response as she wrenches the door open, and when she leaves she slams the door so hard a picture falls from its place on the wall, the wood frame splintering as it hits the hard, marble floor.

“Nothing to say?” Marlian snarls at Elenwen, who still has her back to him. “I’m sure you’re just dying to tell me off, so come on! I’ve already endured Ravienne’s incessant clucking, so I’m sure I can take whatever it is you have to say!”

“Watch yourself, Malrian,” she says, her voice deceptively calm. But within those soft tones is a warning that Malrian would be wise to heed.

“Or what?” He is careless in his anger, ready to lash out at anyone and _everyone_ in his way. He walks toward her, tired of speaking to her back. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to give you some advice,” she says tersely, turning to face him when he draws near. “You need to rein in your temper, because Mother will not tolerate such outbursts. The Supreme Emissary is taking you back to Alinor with her! We all should be so lucky, Malrian! You’re going _home_ , and yet, here you are, acting like a stupid, spoiled child because your favorite toy has been taken away from you!”

Malrian clenches his jaw, electing not to respond. He cannot tell her that he has no desire to return to Alinor and live a life under their mother’s thumb. He has grown used to his life of luxury, a life where he is no one’s subordinate. But in Alinor everything will change.

Elenwen watches him, her eyes softening as the silence stretches between them. “I am leaving in a few days,” she says, some of the anger fading from her voice. “Aelfwynie and Elaninde will be returning to Alinor with our mother, and you are expected to follow once you wrap up your affairs here in Cyrodiil. Once such affair is the matter of this breeding contract.”

“I thought Elaninde was suppose to remain with Ravienne,” Malrian says, not looking forward to spending any time alone with that vicious harpy.

“Ravienne asked her to go home,” Elenwen explains. “She feels that her chances of becoming pregnant with your child will be higher if Elaninde is not here to tease you. I think she might be right.”

“And what of Ancarion and your sons?”

“They will return to Skyrim with me,” Elenwen says with a sigh. “They will only be there for a few weeks. The boys have been seized with an unquenchable curiosity concerning the savage land I’ve been stationed in, and they’re dying to see it.”

“Your sons have some strange interests,” he comments.

“And you act like you don’t,” she says. “What do you plan to do with your pet? You can’t really expect to break her just by locking her in the cellar. Surely she is more resilient than that, otherwise she wouldn’t have survived you all these years.”

“I have a plan.” Malrian smiles at the curious expression on Elenwen’s face. “Crushing Lumen’s willful spirit is going to take more than a few days in solitary confinement. Do not worry, I have put much thought into this.”

“In that case, I hope you succeed, brother.” Elenwen turns away from him to stare out the window as silence falls between the two siblings once again. Whether or not she believes he will fail or succeed is of little consequence. He knows he will succeed. Failure is never an option for a Thalmor, and it is certainly not an option for the Supreme Emissary's son. He will break Lumen. There is no other option.

* * *

_Malrian is rarely caught up in the throes of indecision. A justiciar should have more discipline, and should be able to make good decisions without much time for thought. But time is something he has, so his thoughts are running in circles, like a dog chasing its tail._

_Lumen’s mother is dead, and so he is left with the task of dealing with the child. The girl has been mourning for days. She barely eats, and only sleeps when she has finally exhausted herself from crying. It would be so easy to dump her at the local orphanage, or send her to Valenwood to live with Aranwen’s relatives. Malrian doesn’t have the patience for a grieving child. Especially when her grief only reminds him of his own._

_But… the thought of sending the child away sends a new fissure of pain through his already aching chest. He’s been alone for as long as he can recall. Always surrounded by a crowd, but always utterly alone. Altmer do not confide in others. They do not run to their family or friends in times of need. It is a sign of weakness, and just plain stupid to freely provide others with information that could possibly be damning. The Thalmor do not want justiciars who doubt themselves. They do not want justiciars who struggle with fears of inadequacy and weakness._

_He does not feel weak around the girl, though. It is a strange thing to be needed for nothing more than company. A ten-year old Bosmer hasn’t a care for gold and baubles. All she requires is his presence. She needs him to check beneath the bed, to chase off the unseen fears that are so prevalent in a child’s mind. She needs him to tell her stories and to braid her hair, because the poor girl hasn't quite gotten the hang of it yet. But he does not mind helping her, and the strange truth is that he enjoys it._

_He needs her to need him, and he supposes that is reason enough to keep her around._

* * *

Lumen doesn’t know how much time has passed. Minutes? Days? Weeks? Days, probably. It’s hard to tell with no sunlight, and even harder to assume when she is so hungry and thirsty. Her head hurts, her eyes and mouth are so dry, and the need to urinate is practically nonexistent. She’s tired, too. There’s little else to do but sleep. But sleep is impossible with the sound of mice scurrying through the walls-- but that’s impossible, right? There are no mice in Malrian’s estate. It’s just in her head. Just like that distant whisper she keeps hearing. A soft voice in the darkness, murmuring something that’s just on the edge of her hearing. But she can’t hear what it’s saying because the beating of her heart is beating so thunderously _loud_ it’s driving her mad. She holds her breath because she wants to hear that voice. She wants to hear it so badly, she wishes her heart would stop its loud staccato, if only for a moment.

If she believed in ghosts, she would believe it to be the voice of her long dead mother. Surely it is nothing more than her mind playing tricks on her. She’s delirious with hunger and exhaustion, and so utterly alone.

There are more sounds just beyond the door, but she holds back the hope that it’s her master come to fetch her. Just more hallucinations from her tired mind. Her master has left her down here, and he’s already forgotten her, she’s sure of it.

The door opens, flooding the room with blinding light. Lumen covers her eyes from the onslaught, listening intently to the footsteps that near her. It is her master, she knows his scent. She recognizes the oily leather of his Thalmor robes, and the sweetness of the cologne he favors. But there is nothing sweet about the way he touches her; a fist in her hair, dragging her to her feet, and a firm hand clamped around her throat to keep her upright. Whatever comfort she took in his presence vanishes when his fist connects with her stomach. A hard punch to her liver triggers an intense swelling of nausea and terror, and though she cannot see, she knows her master is taking pleasure in her pain. With every punch and every subsequent groan from her throat, she can hear a sigh of pleasure leaving his lips.

He releases his grip on her throat, and her weak legs crumple beneath her. Too weak and too numb from intense pain to hold her up. She rolls on her side, clutching at her abused stomach and just wishing he would speak, or that she could see. But when a foot stomps down on her side, breaking multiple ribs in the process, the only thing she can wish for is a release from this torment.

The pain is nothing in the wake of the isolation and loneliness she’s endured from being locked in the filthy cellar. Pain fades. It always does. But the horror of being left alone and forgotten in the dark has endured, and she is not sure if she can take much more. But even in her desperation to appease him, the litany of apologies dripping from her tongue are as bitter as the blood in the back of her throat. Even now, as beaten down as she is, some part of her demands that she fight, even though she has no fight left.

Perhaps he can sense her defiance. They have been at this intersection before; the angry master and his disobedient pet who is determined to take whatever cruelties he can dish out. So perhaps that is why he says nothing, and offers no healing. He simply turns on his heel and walks away from her, gently pulling the door closed behind him.

The beatings continue for what Lumen can only assume are weeks. She has lost track of time, and it is impossible to guess when her master will return to her. His visits are as random as his chosen methods of pain; fists, magic, instruments of torture surely devised by Molag Bal himself. Broken bones are set after a few days of festering in pain, and open wounds are healed by the end of the torture session. Her master does not wish to see her disfigured, he heals the worst of her wounds, and he never focuses his rage on her face. These clues are the only indication she had that she would live to see the end of this.

For all that she has endured, her master always seems disappointed when he leaves. Does she not suffer enough? What more could he want from her? She screams at the pain. She begs him to stop. She cries when he leaves her. There is little else she can do, and all she wants, more than anything in the world, is to return to her place by her master’s side. A hollow life of comfort and servitude is better than this. A life bowing and scraping to a man she fears is better than lying in her own blood and filth, suffering, alone and in pain.

Despite the torture she has been subjected to, she finds that she misses her master from time to time. In the lonely, idle hours spent in darkness, her thoughts often wander to pleasant memories of him. Memories of his kinder moments when he still cared for the little girl that she was, rather than hating the obstinate woman she has become.

* * *

_Lumen wakes to a terrible pain, and a puddle of something warm and sticky upon her bedclothes. She rips the covers from her body and yelps at the sight that greets her. There is bright red blood staining her nightgown and her sheets. That, along with a horrible, gnawing ache in her abdomen terrify her more than incurring Malrian’s wrath for waking him at such an early hour._

_She slowly crawls from her bed, the cramping in her stomach worsening when she moves. Even her legs hurt. There’s a sharp, clawing pain crawling down her hips and ending at the tips of her toes. She is so nauseated and dizzy, and she doesn’t know what to do except that she must find Malrian. He’ll know what to do. He always does. He’s the one who heals her scraped knees and bruised shins. Surely he can heal this pain away, too._

_Lumen doubles over in pain when she finally stands, and after a few gasping breaths she is able to walk to her door. The walk to Malrian’s chambers seems longer than before. She takes slow, measured steps, only stopping when a surge of pain wracks her entire body. When she reaches his door she hesitates. There is always a moment of uncertainty before she approaches him for any reason. There are times when he is kind, and there are other times when he is relentlessly cruel._

_She looks down at her ruined nightdress, and thinks of the stain left on her bed. Malrian hates messes of any sort. There is a chance she’ll be punished for this, but a punishment is preferable to bleeding to death, right?_

_With a sigh of resignation, she knocks on the heavy, oak door. “Master? Are you awake?” she asks, her voice shaking. “I-- I need your help.”_

_There is a fleeting moment of relief when she hears footsteps approaching from the other side. At least she is not waking him, such a mistake would surely earn her a clip on the ear. The door opens to reveal her master; half dressed, and his hair still uncombed. But the look on his face is curious until his gaze falls to the deep, red stain on the front of her gown. She is hard pressed to translate the myriad of expressions that flutter across his features. Fear, revulsion, and finally concern._

_Her eyes burn with tears because she is so ashamed of her mess. “What’s wrong with me?” she asks. “Am I dying? I feel like I’m dying. It hurts--”_

_To her immense surprise, his mouth quirks into a smile. “You are not dying, little dove,” he says, wiping the tears from her cheeks. “Did anyone ever talk to you about your Moon Time?”_

_“Yes,” she says slowly. “My tutor did. But-- she didn’t tell me it was this bad.”_

_“I shall have to find you a more suitable tutor,” he says irritably, as he places a hand on her shoulder and leads her back to her bedroom. “Preferably one who is not afraid of the messy truth.”_

_“Master,” Lumen breathes, willing her body not to shake when she tells him, “I’m sorry.”_

_He looks down at her then, his brows raised in amusement. “There is nothing you could have done to avoid this, my girl.”_

_“You’re not angry with me?”_

_She immediately regrets asking that question, because the easy, open expression fades from his face, only to be replaced with something resembling hurt. Which doesn’t make sense, because Malrian is too strong to be hurt by something as innocuous as a question._

_“Why would I be angry?” his words come out in a hushed whisper, as if he cannot fathom why she would fear him. As if he’s forgotten all the times he’s been cruel to her for doing something as harmless as sneezing._

_“Because I made a mess,” she says quietly, suddenly feeling guilty and not knowing why._

_The smile returns to his face, but it does not reach his eyes. “Blood can be easily washed away,” he says, patting her on the shoulder to urge her onward. “Now, come on, let’s get you cleaned up. In the meantime I’ll have the servants bring you some tea that should help with your discomfort.”_

_“Thank you,” she murmurs, wishing she had never doubted him in the first place, and knowing she will pay for it eventually. But until then, she would cherish every moment where he is kind, all while fearing the moment when his kindness will turn sour._

* * *

For the first time in a long time, the house is utterly silent. Elenwen, Acarion, and their two sons have left for the bitter terrain of Skyrim. His mother and his two sisters have also gone, but to the warm, beautiful country of Alinor. A stark contrast to the wretched land where his eldest sister is stationed. Psysha delivered her orders before she left; he has six months to wrap up his affairs in Cyrodiil, and after that he is to come to his mother’s estate in the city of Cloudrest.

He is confident that he can break Lumen before the end of the six months, and some part of him wants to believe he has almost done so. But he knows better. The girl is resilient. Despite her defiance to utterly bend to his will, he does miss her company. It would be so easy to go down to the cellar and fetch her. But her punishment is not at an end, and so he would have to endure.

He grits his teeth when he hears his bedroom door open. Another torment he must endure is the lingering presence of Ravienne and her unwanted affections. She approaches him from behind, wrapping her arms around his chest and resting her head on his shoulder, pretending to show interest in the world beyond the window. Malrian barely resists the urge to cringe when her hands begin to wander.

“I would like to see what you look like beneath those heavy robes, Malrian,” she says, her voice taking on a low, breathy quality that would surely earn the interest of any other man. “I’ll show you what I look like. That seems like a fair trade, yes?”

She pulls away from him, and the sound of fabric being dropped to the ground does pique his curiosity. Perhaps if he finds her appearance pleasing enough, he could fulfill his contract and be done with her. He takes a deep breath and turns around to see what he supposes is the epitome of Altmer beauty.

Any other man would surely feel the first stirrings of desire upon looking at Ravienne. She is beautiful, Malrian cannot deny that. Her body is pale and slender, and her small, perky breasts are crowned with rosy nipples. The flat plane of her stomach is accented by a straight abdominal ridge that leads to her navel. Thin, bony hips flare out on either side of her nearly hairless sex, and she is supported by two long, willowy legs.

Even though she has all the attributes Altmeri society says he should find attractive in a childless female, he finds himself woefully unimpressed. Even after all these years, after all the hate and the pain, Aranwen is still the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. Dark skin with freckles across her cheeks and shoulders, beautiful grass green eyes, and a small body with soft, supple curves. Her daughter has inherited her mother’s beauty, which riles him as much as it pleases him. Altmer who desire anyone outside of their race are regarded as little more than sexual deviants. Is he truly so warped to prefer the aesthetic qualities found in their Bosmeri cousins? Perhaps the bitter truth is that _he is_. Because the idea of mating with Ravienne still disgusts him, and he wonders if he would feel differently if she were someone else.

How _sick_ is he? There is a lovely Altmeri specimen baring herself before his gaze, but he would prefer it if the woman in front of him was the girl he raised as his own. But... Is it so wrong to desire her? It’s not as if she is his own flesh and blood. Lumen is not his daughter. She was sired by another mer who never bothered to claim his child after Aranwen’s passing. But it is Malrian who raised her, who molded her, who made her into everything he wanted her to be.

Malrian shakes himself out of his reverie. He does not have time to entertain sinful thoughts about his pet when she is still needing punishment, and when a naked Ravienne is staring expectantly at him.

“Ravienne, I--” he turns away, focusing his gaze on a grove of trees just beyond the wall of his estate. “I apologize. But-- I am not feeling well. I do not think I could provide you with what you need when I am not at my best.”

“Well, at least you're being civil about it,” she says, sighing as she picks up her robe and wraps it around her shoulders. “Another time, then?”

“Another time,” he says, grateful when she leaves the room. Only Aranwen was ever able to seduce him with soft sighs and sultry looks. Only she was able to distract him from his sadistic tendencies. He wasn’t lying when he told Ravienne she wouldn’t survive what he’s into. People seldom do. The only things that fan the flames of his desire are sorrow and pain. The suffering of others is more enticing than bedroom eyes and a pair of perky tits.

Those thoughts lead his mind back to his pet, who can deliver suffering and beauty in equal amounts. He’s seen her kill, and in a way, he’s nourished her predilection toward violence. Her brutal nature brings him more pleasure than she will ever know. But now they are both paying the price for his indiscretions. Murdered guards and guests will not go unnoticed in Alinor, and his peculiar desires will not be tolerated.

Movement in the yard below distracts him from his base thoughts and turns his attention toward the groundskeeper. The middle aged Bosmer is old enough to be Lumen’s father, but that did not deter her from pursuing him. Nydia has provided him with more information about the two than he truly wanted to know. It enrages him to think of Silvan touching her, and it sickens him to think of his pet _allowing_ it, let alone enjoying it.

Perhaps it is time he had a little talk with the groundskeeper.

* * *

_He does not have time for this. Nor does he have the patience to listen to the horrible truths Nydia is telling him. The thought of his precious girl entwined with the filthy, lowborn groundskeeper will surely kill him. His lungs are burning and his heart is hammering in his chest. But he must be calm and collected. He must ignore the violent rage brewing within him because his sisters are here and his mother will arrive in a day, and he simply does not have the time to deal with Lumen and her indiscretions._

_“Are you certain-- you have witnessed--”_

_Nydia levels him with an annoyed look, and it is obvious that his colleague is growing weary of his stammering. “They have been intimate, Justiciar,” she says drily. “The noises are unmistakable, as are the saccharine confessions that follow.”_

_“By the Eight,” he grumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose harder than he ought to. “That is enough.”_

_“If you wish to prevent any future incidents, I would suggest you keep the girl inside,” Nydia says, the corners of her mouth turning up. “The orchard seems to be their favorite place to meet.”_

_Malrian could scream at the thought of his sweet pet rutting away in the trees. It is not unexpected of his unwashed Bosmeri cousins, but he had hoped Lumen was above such disgusting acts. How could she do this? It is such a betrayal. She shouldn’t have a care for anyone in the world except for him! The groundskeeper has managed to manipulate her somehow. There’s no other reason for his pet to act like such a wanton harlot. There’s no way she would prefer the company of a dirty peasant over his!_

_“Do you wish for me to take action?” Nydia asks helpfully. “I could have the guards bring him to the dungeon so that you may deal with him.”_

_“No,” he breathes. “No, not now. Later, perhaps, when my sisters have gone and I have the necessary time alone to teach them both the error of their ways. Do nothing for now. I will fetch you if I have need of you again.”_

_Nydia’s blonde curls fall over her shoulders as she dips into a graceful bow. Her exit from the room is swift and silent, and when the door swings closed, Malrian breathes a sigh of mingled desperation and relief. He is gripped with a dire need to punish his pet for her foolish actions, and he aches to see the groundskeeper’s blood spilled for daring to befoul his sweet pet. But, like in all things, he needs to be patient. There will be time to deal with them both, but for now, he has the Dominion’s work to do._

* * *

The sound of approaching footsteps rouses Lumen from a dreamless sleep. She can hear the soft footfalls of her master, and the clatter of his golden armored guards, along with the drag of something heavy against the stone. The door opens, and the sound of so many people entering the room is a deafening din against the silence Lumen has grown so accustomed to. She holds her hands over her ears and squeezes her eyes shut against the light that now floods the small room.

A pair of strong hands grab her by the shoulders and pull her to her feet. One arm wraps around her chest to keep her upright, while the hand of the other pries her eyelids open.

“Open your eyes, pet,” her master hisses in her ear. “Open them, or I will gouge _his_ out.”

She strains to open her light-sensitive eyes, feeling disoriented by the bright, glow of magelight that illuminates the room. Her gaze falls upon a sight she knew she would have to bear witness to eventually. Two of Malrian’s most loyal guards strap Silvan to the rack, the hinges groaning as they prop him up so that he is facing her and her master. He looks unharmed, aside from the blood dripping down his brow. He must have fought back when the guards apprehended him.

“I’m sorry, Lu,” he says quietly, sorrow etched in every syllable.

 _“For what?”_ she wonders as a sob bubbles up in her throat. _“This is my fault.”_ She could beg Malrian for mercy, but he would not give it. Tears roll down her cheeks as she struggles against the inevitability of her situation. She could have saved Silvan if she’d ignored him like she was supposed to. He would not be strapped to a rack, at the mercy of a sadist and his equally sadistic guards. Lumen only wanted to make a choice for herself, and she chose him. But now he is paying the price for her selfishness.

Malrian makes a motion to one of his guards. One pulls out a small, sharp dagger, and draws the blade across the inside of Silvan’s elbow. The other dips his thumb into a satchel of black powder, then presses the coated digit into the fresh cut. Silvan grits his teeth as black, bulging veins appear on his skin, snaking out from the cut and infecting his blood with a poison that will amplify his pain.

Lumen wishes she could tell him that the sooner he screams, the sooner his pain will end.

“I want you to watch,” Malrian murmurs, his lips moving against the shell of her ear, pleasure dripping from every word. “I want you to take in every detail. I want you to remember this moment for the rest of your life. And if you dare close your eyes for a second I will break you down to the point where there is nothing left, and I will leave you in here to _rot_.”

Empathy is not a quality Malrian ever bothered to instill in her, but the thought of Silvan suffering because of Malrian’s jealousy will surely kill her. If she has a heart, then it will be broken by the end of this. She wonders if Silvan is regretting every moment spent with her. She cannot be worth so much pain. But when his eyes flick to her tear streaked face, he offers her the tiniest of smiles before the guards set to work on his other arm.

Another small cut. Another small dose of poison. Another hiss of pain.

The hours pass, and Malrian’s guards continue their wretched work. Leaving cuts along the most sensitive patches of skin; under the ears, under the arms, near the groin, and behind the knees. They slip more poison into his body, and more dark, infected veins rise up against his skin, which has gone from a healthy tan to sickly pallor. Lumen is not sure what the poison is called, but she has seen what it can do. Silvan will die a slow, agonizing death as the toxic mixture in his veins weakens his heart, beat by beat.

“Master, please don’t hurt him anymore,” she gasps. “I am begging you.”

“And why should I stop?” he asks, his grip tightening. “I’m enjoying myself.”

“He’s done nothing wrong,” she says, hoping against hope that she can convince her master to show some mercy. “I pursued him. It’s my fault, not his!”

“Perhaps you are telling me the truth, but our dear groundskeeper should have known better than to manhandle my property.” His voice is giddy, like a child on New Life Day. “This is what happens when you try to keep secrets from me, my pet. This _is_ your fault, and he will suffer for your poor judgment.”

“I’ll do anything you want,” she gasps, not knowing what she’s promising. “ _Anything_ \-- just, show him mercy.”

Malrian is quiet for a moment. His eyes drifting across Silvan, who is barely clinging to consciousness, and muttering incoherently through the dizzying mixture of pain and poison. “Anything?” he asks.

“Yes,” she whispers, the word burning up the back of her throat. “Anything.”

“Very well,” Malrian says, inordinately pleased. He makes a motion to his guards, and steps away from Lumen. “Release him.”

They instantly do as they are told, releasing the leather binds that hold Silvan in place, his weakened body falling to the floor. Lumen resists the urge to run to him, knowing that such an action will not go unpunished.

Malrian holds out a small knife to her. “Take it,” he orders. “There is no cure for that poison. It will eat away at him, slowly and painfully. A quick death is the only mercy you can give.”

In another life, perhaps she’d consider turning the knife on Malrian and his guards. But then Silvan would be left to suffer, because Lumen would not survive her master’s fury. The thought of a life without him is unbearable, but so too is the thought of him lingering in agony. One way or another, he is going to die. The least she can do is end his suffering quickly.

Without another word, Malrian and his guards leave the room. The magelight spell is fading, the once bright, white orb has now faded into a murky, undersea glow that bathes the room in a sickly green hue. She had assumed Malrian would want to watch, but instead he has chosen to leave her alone with a victim she never wanted. She always had good reason to kill his vicious guards, but she never wished to harm a single hair on Silvan’s head.

She kneels beside him, gently touching his clammy cheek. “Can you hear me, Sil?”

“Yeah,” he rasps, lifting his shaking hand to grasp at hers. “I can, and I know what you have to do.”

“I am so sorry.” Her chest aches and her eyes burn, and she’s surprised that she still has tears left to cry. “I never wanted this to happen.”

“I knew the risks, but every moment with you was worth it.”

“I am not worth this…”

“Promise to make it quick?” he asks, attempting to smile as if talk of his death is nothing more than a joke. “I’d like to retain some of my dignity.”

“I don’t--” she gasps, her voice breaking in between sobs. “I don’t think I can do this.”

“Do you love me?”

The question hits her like a kick to the chest. _Does_ she love him? At first she denied her feelings for him, believing love to be nothing more than a frivolous notion one reads about in fairy stories. But she cannot deny the warm, fluttering sensation that would fill her up whenever he touched her. She cannot deny how happy she was whenever he smiled at her. Here and now, she cannot lie to him. He deserves better.

“I do,” she whispers, promising to never allow love into her heart if _this_ is what it feels like. “I do, Sil. But I can’t do this. I can’t kill you.”

He squeezes her hand, turning his head to press a kiss against her palm. “You would be doing me a kindness, Lu,” he says weakly.

She knows he is right, but the thought of ending his life is too much. “I wish we’d had more time,” she says, desperately holding on to every last moment she can. “It’s not fair.”

“Life is seldom fair,” he murmurs, his heavy eyelids slipping closed for a moment. “And there is never enough time.”

“How can you not hate me?” she wonders aloud. “This is my fault.”

He offers her a smile. The same smile that would normally send her heart soaring now brings her nothing but sorrow. “I could never hate you.” He reaches for her face, coaxing her closer to him for a kiss. “I love you,” he murmurs against her lips. “No matter what.”

She presses her lips to his and pushes the blade into his chest. It pierces his heart quickly and without warning, because it would hurt more if he’d been ready for it, and because she has caused him enough suffering for one lifetime. He sucks in a wet, gasping breath, his body going stiff in one last ditch effort to fight against the icy grip of death. But after a moment, he breathes his last, and he goes still.

Lumen holds her breath, fighting the tears that burn at the back of her eyes. The sorrow is overwhelming. She feels sick with loss. Even if she lives for a thousand years, she will _never_ recover from this. But she cannot give in to the desire to cry. Malrian will unleash a flurry of new torments upon her if he returns to her and she is puffy eyed and weeping. She must stomp down her emotions until there is nothing left to feel. The only way to survive this is to become numb, to shut herself off until her heart is hard and wicked sharp. Because she will not allow herself to feel this kind of pain again.

She will not allow herself to feel _anything_ again.

* * *

_They lounge beneath an apple tree in the middle of the orchard, the sky above still painted with the orange glow of dawn. The chill of the night hangs in the crisp, morning air, but Lumen’s warm touches and heated looks chase the cold from his skin. His lips are against her neck and he is whispering to her in broken Bosmeris. She understands none of it, and he understands only a fraction of what he’s trying to say, admittedly. He recites fragments of love poems, and even one of a recipe, but he says it in such a way that it sounds like the most enticing filth they have ever heard._

_“I wish I knew what you were saying,” Lumen says, grinning widely when his hands drift down to trace the curve of her hips. “But I am afraid it might be something terribly lewd.”_

_“Oh, it is,” Silvan says. “Well, some of it is filthy. The rest is quite sappy, I’m afraid. You’d probably laugh yourself sick if you knew what I was telling you.”_

_“Are you going to translate for me?”_

_“In time,” he says before kissing her, slow and sweet. “I cannot reveal all my secrets just yet. I need to have some way of convincing you to spend time with me.”_

_She offers him a lopsided grin. “Even if I knew everything there is to know about you, I would always keep coming back,” Lumen says, her voice shaky in the wake of her admission. “I only wish I could stay longer.”_

_The truth has a sobering effect on the two. Their time together is always limited; their meetings arranged around the times when Malrian would be too busy to notice her absence. They can lose themselves in each other for a while. But when their time is up, Silvan will return to his duties and Lumen will run back to her master’s side._

_Being with her is as pleasurable as it is painful, but he would not give back a single moment just to ease the terrible ache of loving someone who is not free. It can go nowhere, he knows that. It is painfully temporary. It will end, he just doesn’t know how. But a wicked, hateful part of him knows that it will end by Lumen’s hand._

_The worst kind of slave is one who does not wish to be free._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry. I am the worst. :( 
> 
> The story is almost complete. I have one more chapter and an epilogue planned. This chapter was going to be the last, I was just going to make is extra long. But considering how sad this chapter is, and how weird the next one is... I thought it would be best if I split them up. I'll have 10 posted soon.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: dubious consent

Malrian enters the torture room an hour later, pleased to find the groundskeeper dead and his pet kneeling on the floor. The knife is placed on the ground in front of her, and she is bent in such a deep bow that her forehead is touching the ground. It appears that her lesson has been learned, but did he manage to break her? Did he manage to show her that her life is his to do with as he pleases?

“Stand up, my pet,” he says, and she rises smoothly-- almost. She is weak from nearly a month of very little food. He only provided her with enough to keep her alive, but not enough to truly nourish her.

Lumen folds her hands in front of her and stares at the ground. Malrian takes a moment to look her over. He has healed whatever wounds he inflicted on her so that she would not risk infection, but it is hard to tell if it worked or not. The poor girl is filthy. Her hair is matted with blood, and what’s left of her tattered, threadbare dress barely covers her body.

“You are a bit of an eyesore,” he says, his lips curling back into a feral grin, almost pleased at his handiwork. It will take more than a show of subservience to convince him that she is truly his again. “Would you like a bath?”

“Only if it will please you, master,” she murmurs, her voice soft.

“It will,” he says, touching her chin and coaxing her to look up. “You are in a dreadful state, and I will not have my pet looking like a little waif from the streets. Now undress, I’m afraid your clothing will have to be burned. There’s no saving it at this point.”

“Yes, master.” There is no hesitation in her voice, or in her movements. She drops the tattered clothing to the ground, and when she is done she rests her arms at her sides, not even bothering to cover her nudity.

In the past she would have balked at the idea of walking through his estate completely naked, but when he motions for her to follow him, she does so without argument. The maids gasp and look away out of respect, as do the guards, but only because they fear what Malrian would do if he caught them leering at his pet.

He leads her to his chambers and into his private bathing room. The tub in the middle of the room has been filled with warm, scented water. “Get in,” he says, removing his heavy Thalmor robe and placing it on a hook. He smiles to himself when he hears her step into the water without question or argument. He rolls up the sleeves of his white tunic, careful to make perfect, little creases in the material, rather than just shoving it up to his elbow. Once done, he turns around to see Lumen washing the grime from her face. He is pleased to see her still taking some initiative with the mundane tasks of her daily life. An obedient pet is what he wants, not some simple, mindless thing that cannot care for herself without instruction.

“Lean back so I can wash your hair,” he says, enjoying the simple pleasure of doing something so normal again. A life under the constant scrutiny of his sisters was driving him mad. But now his life has almost returned to the way it was before they showed up on his doorstep. It is just him and his pet. His sweet, submissive girl who is focused on _him_ now that the distraction of the groundskeeper has been dealt with. Ravienne’s presence is a lingering annoyance, but he hopes her company will be made more pleasant now that Lumen is _his_ again.

Finally clean, Lumen steps from the murky bathwater, and Malrian drapes a towel around her shoulders. He places his hand on the small of her back and guides her to his bedroom where he’s already laid out a dress for her. But when his gaze sweeps over her nude form, he realizes her old clothing will not fit as well as it used to.

“You’ve lost weight, my girl.” He pulls the towel away from her, and runs his fingertips across her still damp skin. “It is of no concern. You will be well fed from now on, and when we are in Alinor I will have new clothes made for you.”

“We--” she hesitates, and he does not know if it is due to his roaming hands or not. “We are traveling to Alinor, master?”

“We are,” he says. His hands move from her bare back to her sides, then to her stomach, drifting upwards until his fingers caress the underside of her breasts. He does not immediately pull away. His hands remain there, testing the boundaries of her obedience. “I think you will love it there. You will see cities of crystal towers reaching to the skies, and I will take you to see the impressive monuments that have been erected in honor of the Aldmeri Dominion. There will not be a single human in sight, and you, my girl, will be a rare jewel indeed. I will be the envy of the court because of you. Not many Altmer can claim to own a beautiful, perfectly behaved, Bosmeri pet.”

Her hands come to rest atop his, but she does not push his hands away, nor does she guide them upwards. He does not know whether to take this as a sign of acceptance, or an invitation to proceed. In that moment he realizes how woefully inexperienced he is in this area, and he pulls away from her, feeling suddenly self conscious and overcome with revulsion. 

Malrian moves to stand in front of her, and he is disappointed when he finds that he cannot read her. Her blank expression gives nothing away. There is no fear in her eyes. There is no blush upon her cheeks signaling her interest. There is _nothing_. He turns away from her, feeling rather exposed and a little confused. This abnormal desire needs to leave him, because he cannot do anything about it. He is her master, and she is just a pet. If he were to lay with her it would be no better than some half-wit farmhand rutting away at his master’s sheep. Besides, coupling with her would be no different than any of his past experiences. It is always wet and sticky, and utterly disappointing in the end.

“Get dressed,” he says tersely, annoyed with her for tempting him. “Lady Ravienne will be joining us for supper, and I expect you to behave. I will not tolerate another spat between you two.”

“Of course, master,” she says, stepping past him and picking up the dress. “I’ll behave.”

* * *

Lumen’s heart is hammering in her chest, and her arms shaking as she pulls the dress over her head. It’s not as if it’s the first time Malrian has touched her, but it is the first time he’s touched her in such an intimate way. It takes all her self control not to give in to a shiver when he moves behind her to tie the laces of her dress. She feels stretched thin. Pushed to the limits of what she can tolerate without snapping. If she weren’t so sick with grief, maybe she would have pushed him away. As it is, she finds it hard to care about what happens to her now. There’s nothing left of her to destroy. She is hollow. 

But there is something burning deep within her. It is filthy and intoxicating, and _dangerous_. So she holds on to that feeling. She nurtures it, allowing the thick ichor of hatred to fill her up and flow through her veins. She is surprised that she has the capacity to feel _anything_ anymore, but there is something oddly comforting about the sensation of red-hot rage clawing up her spine. It gives her a knife-sharp focus, and maybe it will enable her to endure Malrian for just a little while longer.

She hates how easy it is to fall back into their routine. She obeys his silent commands, anticipates his needs, and follows at his heels like a dog. Dinner passes by as so many others have; she sits perfect and prim, ignoring the pain in her knees, the twinge in her hips, and the empty ache in her stomach. She is hungry. _She is so hungry_. But she has no desire to eat. She supposes she will have to at some point, but if she does, it will only because her master bade her to.

“Must you bring that sad creature everywhere?” Lady Ravienne removes the napkin from her lap, folding it neatly before placing it beside her plate. “Don’t tell me she’s to come to Alinor with us.”

Her master does not take the bait. Instead, he plucks a bit of chicken from his plate and offers it to her. Lumen’s first inclination is to take it with her hand, but she knows what he wants. A display. A show of how perfectly obedient she can be. She tries to ignore the way her stomach rolls with shame when she opens her mouth, and allows her master to feed her like a dog.

“My lady, I would not deny you your pets. Why would you deny me of mine?”

“It is not _pets_ that I want,” she snaps. “I want children.”

“Are they not one in the same?” he asks, the corner of his mouth turning up.

“No, they are not.” She takes another glance at Lumen and rolls her eyes. “I can’t watch this anymore. I’m going to take a bath. Perhaps we can talk later. In _private_.”

“As you wish,” he says distractedly. 

It is a strange feeling to realize someone is so utterly consumed with her presence. Even stranger when that person is her master, who dotes upon her, feeding her dainty bites of chicken and even offering a sip of wine from his own glass. Lumen knows the dangers of making assumptions, especially where Altmer are concerned. They so rarely allow their true feelings to show. But if she is completely indulgent, she might go so far as to think Ravienne is _jealous_ of her, which is a _very_ dangerous position for a Bosmeri pet to be in.

It will be fatal when they are in Alinor.

Lumen has thought about running away a multitude of times, and she’s even made a few unsuccessful attempts. But she has never felt such an urgency to get away until now. She cannot go to Alinor. She has to escape, but she also has to be smart about it. Malrian must believe that she is his, and he must learn to trust her again. She cannot make a move until his guard is dropped, and she does not know how long that might take.

She cannot entertain such thoughts now. Now she must be a good, obedient pet, doing as her master bids without question. If he is happy, he will eventually drop his guard. It will take time to rebuild his shaken trust, and she will likely have to do horrible things to earn it. At least she does not have any pride left to damage.

Malrian offers her another bite of chicken, which she accepts. He seems calmer without the ever watchful presence of Ravienne, so Lumen dares to move a little closer to him, resting her head against the side of his thigh and breathing a soft sigh. She so dearly wishes the events of the last few months were nothing more than a bad dream, because Silvan would be alive and her Master would have nothing to brood about, and her life would be much simpler.

“Ah, there she is,” Malrian purrs, his fingernails gently scraping against her scalp. “There's my sweet girl. I have missed her so. If I had only known about the groundskeeper sooner, I would have dispatched with the source of your distraction months ago.”

It is so hard not to react to his callous remark about Silvan. He would pick up on the slightest change in her breathing or a clench in her jaw. It takes every ounce of her self-control to just remain calm. “I am sorry, master,” she says meekly. “I was selfish and I was only thinking of myself. I did not consider how my actions would affect you.”

“We are all selfish from time to time my dear. Just be sure that it never happens again, hm?” He tugs on a lock of her hair to emphasize his point. “I will not be as lenient next time.”

“It won’t happen again.”

“I know,” he says, smoothing his fingers through her hair.

Lumen closes her eyes, allowing herself to enjoy a gentle touch after going so long without. It doesn’t matter that it’s Malrian’s fingers in her hair, rather than Silvan’s. It’s just nice to be touched with the purpose of giving pleasure, rather than pain. “Master,” she begins, fearing that his gentle touch will turn painful if he is not in the mood for conversation. “I have questions…”

“Ask.”

“Are you going to marry Lady Ravienne?” 

He laughs at that. “No. My family has forced me into a breeding contract rather than a marriage contract. I am supposed to supply her with children and then, gods willing, she will eventually leave.”

“But you do not want to,” she says, knowing she’s entering dangerous territory.

“No, I do not,” he says slowly. “It is an unpleasant thought.”

“At least she’s pretty.”

He smirks, breathing a soft, amused laugh as he leans forward and takes her chin in his hand, beckoning her closer. “She is,” he whispers. “But she is not as pretty as you, my pet.” He kisses her on the forehead, his lips lingering upon her skin for a long time before he pulls away. He looks down at her mouth, his thumb caressing the swell of her lower lip before he finally releases her from his hold.

The look in his eyes sends a jolt of fear arcing through her. After a decade at his beck and call, Malrian is so easy to read. _He wants her_ , and her only saving grace is that he doesn’t know how to act on it. He eventually will, because Malrian did not achieve so much during his career as a Justiciar by sitting idle. 

She avoids his gaze, looking down at her lap. She hopes he thinks she is merely being bashful, but the truth is that she does not want him to see the tears welling in her eyes. How could such kind words come from someone so cruel? He has stolen her dreams away. He forced her to kill someone she dearly loved. And now, she sits at his feet, lapping up his praise like a beaten dog, too stupid to know any better and too broken to care.

They remain in the dining room for hours. Malrian sips a glass of red wine and watches the sun set through the western windows, and Lumen sits beside him with her head resting upon his leg. The servants come and go, collecting the remnants of their dinner and clearing the mess away quickly and quietly. They remain undisturbed for a blessedly long time, but like all good things, it eventually comes to an end.

“You’re still in here?” Ravienne’s question holds no bite to it, only amusement. “I’ve been looking all over for you. I would’ve thought to find you in your study.”

The Altmer’s black, curly hair is pinned in a messy bun atop her head, her body wrapped in a white, silk robe. The thin, nearly translucent material clings to her skin, which is still damp from her bath. Even though she is fully covered, the robe leaves nothing to the imagination.

Malrian studiously avoids looking at her body, his gaze focused on something just over her shoulder. “I suppose time got away from me,” he says, cordial as ever. “Did you need something?”

“Only you,” she says, he lips twisting into a wicked grin. “Your pet can stay. She’s obviously had experience. Perhaps she could help us.” The suggestion comes out so light and nonchalant, but those words are meant to nettle Malrian-- and they do.

“My lady, I rather think that would be inappropriate.” Malrian’s body grows tense and the hand in Lumen’s hair stills. “I do not wish to involve my pet in these matters.”

“I think your pet is well-versed in such matters,” Ravienne laughs, turning her attention to Lumen. “You _did_ fuck the groundskeeper, didn’t you? I’d hate to think he died for nothing.”

Lumen gasps, unable to give her an answer. It hurts too much to think of Silvan and of all the time they spent in each other’s arms. She already misses him, and she doesn’t think she’ll ever stop.

“Answer me, girl.”

She looks to Malrian for help, only to find him glaring down at her. “Go on,” he says. “Answer her.”

“We were intimate,” she says, feeling somewhat defiant. Malrian probably knows more about their relationship than he lets on, so what’s the point in dancing around the subject?

“Such a proper answer,” she says, amused. “Was he any good? Tell me he got you off, at least.”

“That is quite enough!” Malrian snaps, his patience finally at an end. “What is the meaning of this?”

“I think I may have figured out what makes you tick, Malrian. I’d rather not involve some Bosmeri mongrel in my sex life, but if that’s what I have to do to get a baby out of you, then I will endure it.” She straddles Malrian’s lap, allowing her robe to fall open. “I was insulted at first, but I think I’ve finally accepted it. In fact, I actually pity you and that poor creature of yours.”

“Do not talk about things you don’t understand, woman,” Malrian growls, though he does not attempt to shove her away. He has accepted the fact that he will eventually have to sleep with her, but he does not have to like it.

“I think you misunderstand, mistress. My master does not desire me sexually,” Lumen says, although she knows that is not entirely true. “He does not particularly enjoy the act at all. He finds it disgusting and dirty.” She knows she is toeing the line of what Malrian will and will not tolerate from her, but she hopes that he will be lenient with her if she attempts to help him in this matter.

“Lumen!”

“Hush, now. These are things I need to know.” Ravienne’s perfectly manicured hand slips beneath the hem of Malrian’s trousers, attempting to tease some interest into the utterly disinterested Altmer. “What _does_ he like? Certainly you know.”

“I-- I’m not sure,” she says, somewhat horrified at what is happening right in front of her. Some part of her wants to walk away and leave Malrian to fend for himself, but another, darker part of her wishes to stay and help Ravienne, because there is a sick sort of pleasure in seeing her tormenter suffer at the hands of another.

“Oh, come on. Out with it! You’re finally useful to me! Don’t stop now.”

“Master,” she breathes. “Please tell me what to do.”

She needs a command, but it does not come. Malrian winces, and whether it’s due to pain, or pleasure, or just humiliation, Lumen does not know. Perhaps it is nothing more than begrudging acceptance. He is locked in a contract, and if he wishes to keep his fortune, his title, and his head, he’ll have to make good on it at some point. 

“Oh, thank the Divines,” Ravienne says suddenly, looking down at his lap. “It seems that you’re not completely dead from the waist down.”

“Lumen,” Malrian groans. “Leave. Now.”

“Yes, leave.” Ravienne shucks the rest of her robe and yanks at Malrian’s trousers. “It seems I don’t need you after all. I suppose your master only needed a little _hands on_ attention.”

Lumen does not have to be told twice, and he is on her feet and running down the hall within seconds. She runs until she reaches the farthest corner of the house, which happens to be Malrian’s chambers. He will come looking for her when Ravienne is done with him. She does not know what sort of mood he will be in, but she doubts it will be a good one. It would be in her best interest to suck up to him, rather than avoid him entirely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sincerest apologies for taking so long to get an update out. I hit a bit of a lull after that last chapter, and I thought I was nearing the end of the fic, but my brain had other ideas.
> 
> In this chapter I wanted to highlight Lumen’s defeat and desperation, as well as Malrian starting to come to terms with his desire for his pet. I would say “Things are getting weird.” But, honestly? They’ve been weird. Things are always weird when Malrian is involved. In a chapter or two I will really delve into his sadism and subsequently squick my entire readership. So I’ll be apologizing for that as well…


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: violence, gore, sadism, and Malrian being a creep.

Lumen sits at her bedroom window, staring out into the moonlit gardens. Torchbugs hover above the roses, and some can be seen deep within the shadows of the orchard. The night is silent and still. Too still. She thinks she might be going mad because she misses the chaos that followed Malrian’s sisters. Their presence provided a distraction, and time passed by quickly when they were around. But now that it’s just her, Malrian, and Ravienne, the days no longer bleed into each other. Instead, they pass by with excruciating clarity. Every moment drags on longer than necessary— as if the god of time has seen fit to torment her.

She turns away from the window and takes in the sight of her empty bedroom. The furniture is still in place. There is no reason to bring it with them to Alinor. Only her clothes, jewelry, and various knick knacks are all packed away in trunks. Malrian’s steward left for Alinor weeks ago, and according to her master, he’s purchased an estate and already filled it with all the necessary things a home needs— according to Altmeri standards.

They are leaving tomorrow. The coachman will pick them up at dawn, and they will travel to Anvil and sail to Alinor from there. Lumen wonders if this is how prisoners feel before they are lead to the gallows. Calm. Dazed, almost. 

Voices in the hallway grab her attention, and she tiptoes across her room to listen at the door. She heaves a sigh when she hears the familiar tones of her master and his constant companion. Every day is the same— Ravienne stalks Malrian like a fox on the scent of a wounded rabbit, and she pounces on him with equal ferocity. Her master does not always comply, even though he knows the sooner she falls pregnant, the sooner she will lose all interest in him. As much as he complains, Lumen thinks he might enjoy the chase.

Tonight, her master welcomes Ravienne to his quarters, and Lumen abandons her own. It is better to risk punishment than to endure the telltale noises of their passionless coitus. 

Moonlight pours through the windows of the estate, and Lumen carefully steps around the silvery pools of light as she makes her way through the house. Avoiding the light serves no real purpose, but there’s something about being enshrouded by darkness that comforts her. Her bare feet make no sound as she lightly steps across the marble floor, and the shadows wrap around her like an old cloak. Lumen rarely feels safe or at ease. Malrian’s household is as perilous as any gauntlet. But there is a comfort in knowing she can move through its halls unseen and unheard.

That tenuous sense of ease dissipates when she passes by the cellar door. That door is a symbol of all her losses; of the loss of her mother and Silvan. She knows will die by Malrian’s hand if she doesn’t run. But finding the will to leave isn’t as easy as one might think. She knows little of the outside world, and she has no money or skills. Some kind-hearted individual might take it upon themselves to help her, but she doesn’t want to find herself beholden to yet another master.

A few more steps would lead her to the foyer, and to the world beyond. It would be so easy to step outside— to sneak through the gardens, over the wall, and on to freedom. But she turns away and banishes all thoughts of running from her mind.

She swallows her shame as she steps into the kitchen. The kitchens are rarely empty, but her master sent all the servants away, and Lumen plans to enjoy a rare moment of solitude while she can. An oil lamp is left burning beside a small array of treats prepared by the servants earlier that evening; a plate of cheeses, an apple tart, and a pitcher of honeyed water.

Lumen touches her fingers to the silvery surface of the pitcher, and the frost rune etched on its side flickers like a guttering flame. Despite the alluring dance of the rune, she turns her attention elsewhere. A spatula and a small, silver knife lay beside the apple tart. Lumen’s fingertips graze the handle of the knife, leaving a wet smear of condensation in her wake.

She pulls her hand away from the knife when she hears footsteps coming from down the hall. The steps are light and quick, and most definitely not the practiced gait of her master. With no reason to worry, her eyes continue their exploration of the knife. The delicate curve of the sharp blade is perfect for cutting through bread or fruit— or flesh. It grows wider near the bottom, where it joins the handle, which is decorated with floral carvings and dotted with gems.

“What are you doing down here? I thought your master told you to stay put.”

Her ears twitch at the sound of Ravienne’s voice, but she does not instantly respond. She is lost in the way the lantern light dances along the edge of the blade, and she wonders if the knife will still hold its beauty when it’s covered in blood. It’s not the first time she’s thought of such things, and though Malrian did look the other way when she killed one of his guards, she doesn’t think he would tolerate such behavior again. But— she’s not sure if she cares. So much of her life is spent groveling at his feet and bending to his whim, and some wild, vicious part of her says it’s time for her to think of herself. Such thoughts could lead to actions that might get her killed, but she's not sure if she cares about that, either.

“Your master is unable to perform his duties _again_ ,” Ravienne snaps, undeterred by Lumen’s silence. “We’re going to be the laughing stock of Alinor at this rate.”

Lumen backs away from the cabinet — away from the knife that tempts her so — when Ravienne shoves her aside and reaches for the pitcher of chilled water.

“You could help me out, you know,” Ravienne continues. “You’ve lived with this man all your life, have you not? Surely you know what makes him tick— and yes, I know he hates any physical contact, so don’t even say it. I need some information I can use.”

“He likes pain,” Lumen says, her voice is rough from hours without use.

“Oh? Shall I whip him?” The Altmer laughs softly before taking a sip of water, amusement twinkling in her eyes. “I wouldn’t mind.”

“No.” She doesn’t know why she is telling Ravienne any of this, except that she enjoys the idea of humiliating Malrian. “He likes to inflict it. I think— he enjoys it very much.”

Ravienne scoffs. “I’m certainly not going to let him debase me.” She glances at Lumen before walking across the kitchen to the liquor cabinet. “You must be used to it. Maybe I’ll tie you up for him. Let him use and abuse you until he is finally of use to me.”

Lumen’s fingers curl around the handle of the knife when Ravienne turns away. The metal is cold and hard against her skin, and she shivers at the contact. Heat settles in her stomach, similar to arousal, but not quite. Because it is not sex she desires, but blood and pain. They are not so different, she and her master. She does not know if her sadistic tendencies are due to her nature or from Malrian’s so-called nurturing, but she doesn’t care. A lifetime of hatred has burrowed deep into her heart, taken root, and laid waste to the best parts of her.

She needs to hurt Ravienne. She wants to kill her. She wants to destroy any chance of Malrian’s wretched bloodline spreading any further than it has. His family is a disease, and the Thalmor are a plague upon the world. If she can kill at least one Thalmor sympathizer, then let that be enough. It will likely be the last thing she ever does. One last act of defiance before she meets her own miserable end.

Ravienne turns around, leaning against the cabinet with a glass of wine in her hand. Her mouth moves, but the words coming out are of little consequence.

 _“I am not broken.”_ But the cold metal feels so right in her clenched hand. _“There's nothing wrong with me.”_ But the mere idea of watching blood flow has her shaking with anticipation. Her body is moving before she realizes she’s made up her mind, and the blade plunges into Ravienne’s chest. Lumen twists the hilt of the knife when the blade gets caught between her ribs, and angles it so she can push it in deeper— as deep as it will go.

The pain brings Ravienne to her knees, and Lumen sinks with her. A wail dissolves into a wet, bubbling gasp as Lumen yanks the knife out. Ravienne flails, her fingernails leaving long, burning cuts along Lumen’s face as she aims for her eyes. But Lumen turns away, letting the side of her face and her neck take most of the damage before knocking her hands away and stabbing her in the chest again— _and again_. Blood flies from the blade when it is pulled from her flesh, painting the kitchen in a spray of crimson.

Lumen loses herself in the rhythmic flow of blood pulsing from a puncture that hit an artery. Her arms are burning from exertion, but she keeps plunging the knife in and out of flesh that is now unrecognizable. The handle is slick with blood, and she loses her grip on it. She slices her palm open, and the pain yanks her back to the present moment. The knife clatters to the floor as she clutches her wounded hand to her chest.

Fear is etched on Ravienne’s face, her lovely eyes wide and unfocused. Her chest is little more than a mound of torn flesh and shredded muscle, and there is a long cut along her side, deep enough that her intestines have spilled out onto the floor. A steadily growing pool of blood floods the kitchen, and the air reeks of iron and something Lumen cannot identify, but she can only assume it’s the smell of opened bowels.

Fear hits her like a kick to the chest. Malrian will kill her for this. Ravienne's death is not something he can easily hide from his sister, his mother, or the whole of the Aldmeri Dominion.

The hair on the nape of her neck rises when she feels eyes upon her. She cuts a glance to the doorway and sees the feet of her master. How long has he been there? Not long, surely. As much as he hated Ravienne, he wouldn’t have stood idly by and watched Lumen kill her. He would have stopped her.

She turns toward him, leaving bloody handprints in her wake. _“Just do it.”_ Tears sting her eyes. _“Just kill me.”_

“Oh, my darling pet.” His voice is breathless. “What have you done?”

She chokes on a sob. “I don’t know,” she says, fearing her actions. The anger had come upon her so quickly. It had been all-consuming. She’s afraid of herself— of what she’s becoming. “Something is wrong with me.”

“Nothing is wrong with you,” he hisses as he takes another step into the kitchen. He leans against the cabinet, his movements unbalanced. “You are perfect. You are _beautiful_.”

An icy chill crawls down her spine. Malrian's mate lies dead on the floor— butchered. Her blood covers the kitchen and Lumen, and yet, after all this, he says she is beautiful? _“Don’t do it,”_ Lumen tells herself, but she doesn’t heed her warning. Her gaze travels across the blood spattered floor, to Malrian’s bare feet, and up the length of his legs. Her master is wearing a pair of knit trousers and nothing more. The thin material does little to hide the straining evidence of his desire. 

“Avert your eyes, girl,” he snaps, and she instinctively flinches away.

Lumen bows her head, her long hair falling over her shoulders and curling in the blood surrounding her. Fearing he may use her for his pleasure, she steals another glance at him. Through the curtain of her hair, she can see Malrian’s hand drift across the flat plane of his stomach, and over the bulge in his trousers. He grips himself through the material, rather than touch skin-to-skin. Lumen closes her eyes, wishing she were somewhere else. Her skin is crawling. Just being so close to him is _too much_. She can hardly believe he's doing this right in front of her, and she is _terrified_ of what will happen next.

It is a small blessing that her master feels no need to roar out his climax as some men are known to do. There is only a quiet rush of breath. Almost a sigh. As if he'd been in pain and sought to end it, rather than aroused and seeking pleasure. Malrian sinks to the floor when he finishes, leaning his head back against the side of the cabinet as he catches his breath.

“I watched you kill her,” he whispers, his voice shaking. “I should have stopped you. But gods, I didn’t want to.”

She doesn't know how to respond. Out of all the possible outcomes she entertained, this was not it. She had known about Malrian’s predilection toward inflicting pain, but even she didn’t know how deep those desires ran.

“Come here.”

She crawls toward him, one hand pulling her across the slick tile, while her wounded hand remains tucked against her chest. “Master, I’m—”

“Hush.” He touches her chin, coaxing her to look at him. “Look at me, pet.”

Lumen obeys because her every instinct is telling her to grovel at his feet, as it is too late to run. He smooths his hand down her throat, across her collar bones and between her breasts. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, hoping an apology will make him reconsider whatever he’s planning.

“We are past the point of lies,” he says distractedly, his hand moving across her sternum, to her stomach, and then deviating to her side. He yanks her toward him, and she falls into his lap. “No more lies.”

“Fine,” she says, shivering when the hand on her side travels lower and slips beneath the hem of her nightgown. Her master's hand is heavy and humid against the bare skin of her thigh. “I’m not sorry. She deserved what she got.”

He laughs, his fingers squeezing her thigh, but traveling no further. “I suppose it’s my turn for honesty, then,” he says, his voice still husky. “I’ve never wanted you more than I did tonight, pet.”

Emboldened by his confession, she asks, “What stopped you?”

“I have my reasons.” The smirk that curls his lips tells her he may not heed those reasons a second time. “Come. Let’s get cleaned you up.”

“What about the kitchen?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, getting to his feet and pulling her up with him. “For now, we both need to get cleaned up and dressed.”

The halls of the estate pass by in an ornate blur of midnight and gold. Malrian’s hand curls around her upper arm, gripping her tighter than necessary. The events of the night have left Lumen in a state of mingled confusion and fear, and she does not mind his guidance. The only thing that saved her tonight is Malrian’s aversion to sex. But how long will that last? How long until he acts on those pent up desires? How long will he wait before he damages her beyond repair?

There will be no safe harbor once they are in Alinor. He will kill her, or he will break her down to the point of no return, and she will kill herself. She could run, but some other Thalmor will likely finish what Malrian started. 

When they reach her bedroom, he pushes her inside. “Wait here,” he says. “I need to change first.”

Lumen sits down on a trunk packed with her clothing. The hem of her nightgown catches on the metal clasps, but she pays it no mind. She nearly chokes when she thinks of _why_ Malrian needs to change his clothes. A line wasn’t just crossed tonight— it was obliterated. _“It’s only a matter of time. It will get worse. It will get so much worse.”_

The rustle of leather heralds Malrian’s return. He has dressed in his Thalmor robes, and his appearance is neat and tidy— a stark contrast to how he looked when he was fondling himself in the kitchen.

“Let me see your hand,” he commands, grabbing for her wounded hand before she has the chance to offer it. His clicks his tongue when he sees the long cut across her palm. “My poor girl. Does it pain you much?”

His kindness only adds to her mounting anxiety. “Only a little,” she admits. 

“You’ve always been so strong— so resilient.” A cold cloth presses against her palm. “I feel like our long time together has been leading up to this moment. You have done so well, my girl. Elenwen will be furious about Ravienne’s death. But I will make this go away. I have the power to protect you.”

“Did you really want this to happen?” It takes all her self-control not to gape at him. If Altmer are good at anything, it’s playing the long game. They set up the gauntlet, just to watch how their lessers will navigate the pitfalls. Was he waiting for her to act? If so, she was a fool not to see it earlier.

He doesn’t answer her immediately. Instead, he focuses on his task of cleaning her hand. “Yes and no,” he finally says. “I had no choice but to obey my family. I tolerated her when she was just an annoyance, but when she began debasing me on a regular basis, I found myself wishing for a way out. At first, I thought to kill her myself, but… I rather liked the idea of you killing her. Which is why I didn’t stop you. I _couldn’t_ stop you.”

Lumen curls in on herself. “If you get in trouble because of me…”

“I won’t.” He covers her hand with his own, the glimmering gold of a healing spell lighting up the dark room. All traces of the cut are healed away, along with the burning scratches Ravienne left on her face. “No one will know what happened here tonight.” Malrian's eyes flick up to hers, and he presses a kiss to her palm. “It’ll be our little secret.”

The warmth of his hands and the strong bones of his face are as much a weapon as his magic, and he is simply trying to defeat her in a different way. This kindness— this _flirtation_ is just another manipulation tactic. It’s a good one, and she’d fall for it if she didn’t know him so well. What elven woman could resist a Thalmor Justiciar on his knees, tending to her wounds and promising protection? It’s all a ruse. He only means to ply her with enough kindness to get her to drop her guard, or to guilt her into letting him fuck her without a struggle.

“Our secret,” Lumen agrees with a forced smile.

“Good girl.” With his hands in hers, he guides her to stand. “Take off your nightgown. It’s covered in blood.”

Malrian steps away from her and opens her trunk of clothes, pulling out a pair of trousers, followed by a tunic, a belt, and a pair of knee-high boots. He lays the clothes out on her bed, before cutting a sharp glance her way.

That look spurns her into action, and she tugs the nightgown over her head. The cool, night air kisses her skin, leaving gooseflesh in its wake. She drops the blood soaked material to the floor. A bowl of water sits on her vanity, left by the servants earlier that evening. It has grown cold, but she'll not ask Malrian to heat it. She'll not ask him for anything. Especially not when his eyes are roving across her naked body.

Malrian opens his mouth as if to say something, but he closes it with a snap. After a moment of consideration, he says, “I’m going to gather a few things. Meet me in the foyer when you finish.”

When he leaves the room, she presses her hand against her chest. Her heart is beating so fast, she fears she may pass out. A bead of sweat runs down her spine, and while she wants to fall to her knees and cry, the blood drying on her skin is starting to itch. There’s no time to waste, and she has no desire to test Malrian’s patience.

She washes the blood from her skin, paying no mind to the water collecting at her feet. The carpet has already been soiled with blood. She dresses in the clothes he laid out for her, grateful he chose clothing she would be comfortable in, rather than some gaudy, cumbersome dress. When she is finished, she rushes to meet him in the foyer, fearing she’s already spent too much time putting herself together. 

Malrian stands in the foyer, his arms folded as he surveys his home. He looks her over before giving her a nod of approval. “Go and wait by the front gate,” he says, and hands her a heavy knapsack. “I won’t be but a moment.”

“What are you—”

“Do as I say,” he snaps. “Go.”

She instantly complies, her feet carrying her across the foyer and out into the front gardens. The twisting cobblestone path leads her to the front gate. Fragrant, blooming flowers line the pathway. Once, she would’ve stopped to admire the flowers, but now they are just a painful reminder of what’s she’s lost. These are Silvan’s flowers. He spent hours in this garden, sweating beneath the hot, Cyrodillian sun. He harvested the seeds for these flowers. He worked the soil, and doted over the seedlings that sprouted just before his death. But he never got to see them bloom.

Tears sting her eyes, but she distracts herself from the pain by rummaging through Malrian’s knapsack. It contains a jumble of hastily wrapped family heirlooms— and a small letter opener. Lumen looks back to the house, it is still dark inside, and her master is nowhere to be seen. She grabs the small knife and quickly slips it into her boot, before cinching the knapsack closed and tossing it over her shoulder.

Minutes pass, and the scent of smoke hits her nose, just before flames erupt from the upstairs bedrooms, the kitchen, and then the parlor. The front door slams open and her Master strides out. His robes are singed and his hand is wrapped in a bandage. But he is calm and collected, as if covering up a murder and setting his home on fire is of little consequence.

“An oil lamp fell over upstairs,” he says, wiping soot from his sleeve. “That’s what we’ll tell anyone who asks what happened here tonight. We will tell them there was a fire, and that Ravienne perished before we could escape.”

She is too stunned to speak. Her master did this for her— and he will expect something for it. The knife resting against her calf barely offers her any solace, and for a brief moment, she considers running toward the house and throwing herself into the flames. Death would be preferable to whatever new torment Malrian has planned for her.

“You’re injured,” is all she can manage to say.

He examines his bandaged hand with some boredom. “Well, it does add to our cover story.”

Fear closes her throat. Lumen knows the part she’s supposed to play, but everything has changed in the stroke of a knife. Her grip tightens on the knapsack as Malrian moves closer, his fingers stroking through her hair. It’s not unusual for him to touch her like this, but knowing that he desires her changes the meaning of his every action. He’s not claiming what is his. He’s not just marking his territory. He’s testing his boundaries— and hers.

“Come with me,” he says, resting his hand on the nape of her neck. “It is a few hours until dawn. We should find somewhere to rest until the coach comes to collect us.”

With a flick of his hand, the gate creaks open. Malrian does not often use his magic for such mundane things, and Lumen does not know if it is a subtle threat or a sign of physical exhaustion. He looks more tired and worn than he usually does thanks to Ravienne keeping him up night after night, and his work pulling him from sleep at early hours.

They sit down on the other side of the stone wall that runs along the boundaries of his estate. Lumen leans back against it, too frightened to sleep, but obedient enough to close her eyes. If nothing else, feigning sleep will give her some time to plan her next move. Malrian settles beside her, his arm around her, pulling her close to his side. The heat of his body — his scent — is enough to make her physically ill. But she will endure it.

She’s endured a lifetime with him. So what’s another night?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took forever to update this. I’m lame. I’m sorry. :( I promise the next chapter won’t take as long. I... felt really weird about posting this chapter, I guess? The subject matter is pretty squicky. But, yeah. That's why it took me forever to actually post this one. It's actually toned down compared to the original draft of this chapter. I crossed a line I wasn't comfortable crossing, so I had to back up and re-write some parts.
> 
> A note on Malrian - I often referred to him as asexual because I didn’t quite have another name for it. But that’s not really the right term for what he is.
> 
> He’s a sadist. He doesn’t like sex. He isn’t sexually motivated. But if things get violent enough, he’s probably gonna get a really awkward boner. So there we go. I don’t consider that to be asexual. He’s just… a sociopathic sadist.


End file.
